


Dawn Over Jorrvaskr

by JacobFlood



Series: The Gylhain-verse [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Redemption, Revenge, Trauma, excessive amounts of original characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-02-22 21:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 50
Words: 89,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13175493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacobFlood/pseuds/JacobFlood
Summary: The Companions have been massacred. Aela broods in Jorrvaskr, overrun with guilt, leaving only a raw recruit to take on work. But a Bosmer on a dying horse is making for Whiterun, looking for atonement. And maybe, under the wide spans of that ancient hall, there is hope for renewal.





	1. Border Run

Thaegoth’s horse died just after he crossed the border into Skyrim. He recognised the impending collapse seconds before it happened and managed to roll clear with a hair’s breadth to spare. He came to his feet in the snow and dusted off his scuffed leather armour. Despite his gloves, the feeling was starting to go in his fingers. He looked northward down the mountain pass, hoping there was not too far to go until he reached the new land. Somewhere to hide, to begin anew.

He crouched beside the animal that had borne him all the way from the Imperial City. A furious pace that had taken a heavy toll. He rested his hand on the horse’s neck and felt its ragged breaths. The single thought of flight that had taken control of his mind gradually eased its grip. So blinkered that he’d never considered—no. He had known exactly what he was doing, throughout every step he had taken on his way north, through every desperate measure. He’d seen enough years by this point that he couldn’t delude himself on that score.

Though still in his prime, he conceded, stretching his limbs. He retrieved his elven longsword from where he had strapped it to the saddle and belted it on. The pack that had contained his food was crushed between horseflesh and snow and he decided Falkreath couldn’t be far enough away for that to be a problem—certainly not worth the effort of trying to shift the horse.

But as the horse’s ribcage rose and fell, he retrieved, from where he had dropped it in the snow on his jump, the hide-wrapped package that had made his desperate flight a necessity. It was about the length of his forearm, half that in width and height, and he had packed it with some old shirts to make the shape less obvious. Bulky now, but ambiguously so, and certainly the lightest thing he had with him. He tucked it under one arm and saw the horse’s breathing cease.

Thaegoth turned northwards and saw the outlines of several figures heading his way. Crooked cliffs on both sides of the road blocked any escape—not that he was going to leave the road so close to his destination, especially in unknown territory. He walked calmly to meet the figures, who he saw now were three Imperial legionnaires. Light armour, all Imperial men, with short swords and bows. Scouts then, he thought, patrolling the border for miscreants. For people just like him.

He raised a hand in greeting, sure to keep from looking like he was going anywhere near his sword, and tried not to frown at the familiar mocking looks he could see forming on the legionnaires’ faces.

“What’s a little wood elf like you doing all the way up here?” asked the scout in the centre. There was something slightly different about his uniform, so Thaegoth picked him for the officer. He couldn’t be too high a rank, to be stuck on this beat. He had dark hair and half of one his front teeth was chipped away. He kept poking small sections of his tongue through the hole in a way that made Thaegoth feel ill.

“Just passing through,” he said. He was only an inch or so shorter than the scouts, really, but for them the single stereotype was more important than the diverse reality. The scout officer leaned and looked past Thaegoth down at the dead horse.

“Had ourselves a little fall, have we?” he asked.

Thaegoth tried to plot out the next few beats of the encounter in his head. He couldn’t take three legionnaires on his own—not without the benefit of surprise and some other less-than-honourable tricks, anyway—so that left him with only a few options.

“Been moving faster than I should’ve,” Thaegoth said, trying not to sigh.

“Running from something, are we?” asked the officer. His subordinates seemed content to stand and smirk.

“A spurned lover,” said Thaegoth. It had been true at one point or another, it just wasn’t true this time. Still, the officer grinned wider and ran his tongue through his chipped tooth again.

“So spurned you had to kill your horse trying to get to Skyrim,” said the officer. “And didn’t stop in, say, Bruma, to buy yourself some nice warm furs. A man—or an elf—could freeze to death up here without them.”

Thaegoth jerked his head northwards. “How far to Falkreath?” he asked.

“Not far,” said the officer. His hand was curling around his sword-hilt. “What’ve you got in the packet there?”

“Clothes,” said Thaegoth. Technically true, given his packing. And if you counted the stolen boots he carried as clothes. Boots with enough power to let him run circles around any number of Imperial scouts. Putting them on had seemed . . . too easy. He hadn’t seen anybody coming after him for a while now, though, even with that concession. But his tracks were as wide as a wagon train’s, he knew.

“Anything else?” asked the officer, taking a step forward. Thaegoth shook his head. “You’re not a courier, are you? Got some special orders regarding couriers.”

“If I say I am, will you get out of my way?” asked Thaegoth.

The officer’s grin flickered for a moment. “Course,” he said. “We got nothing but respect for such a noble profession.” This brought a round of laughter from the other scouts. “But you’re no courier, not with that armour and sword, are you?”

Thaegoth didn’t see any point in lying this time, so he shook his head again.

“So,” said the officer, “I’ll ask again. You got anything in that package we ought to be concerned about? Can’t have you bringing anything dangerous into Skyrim, after all. Place’s got enough problems as it is.”

Thaegoth looked up at the high peaks. He had no aversion to travelling at night, but wondered if he’d make it into Falkreath before the moons rose. He didn’t think he’d stop there—too close to the border. Better to make it further into Skyrim before he took stock of things, before he could maybe have a drink and start thinking about what in Oblivion he was going to do with his life next. He let himself sigh.

“We boring you?” asked the officer.

“Alright,” said Thaegoth, reaching for his coin pouch. “How much to let me through without looking at anything I’ve got?”

The officer leaned back on his heels for a moment. There was too long a delay before he said, “I’m offended you’d even ask.”

Thaegoth counted out enough coins for a few drinks and a room for the night, somewhere, before tossing the rest of the pouch over. The officer took it and quickly flicked through its contents. Like a professional, thought Thaegoth.

“You let me past with everything else I have,” he said. “And don’t mention to anyone that you saw me. Not your superior officers, not in your reports, nothing.”

The officer hefted the pouch in his hand a few times. “Afraid you don’t have enough for that second part,” he said. “This buys safety. Silence is expensive.”

Thaegoth nodded. It’d have to do. He could disappear well enough on his own, he hoped. Though it’d only be a matter of time before his pursuers discovered he’d come this way. He gestured at the scouts expectantly. They moved, slowly, with much theatricality, to the side of the road. Thaegoth moved past them, never letting them out of his sight.

Once he was past, he halted and pointed to the dead horse. “There’s some food under there. If you can get it out, you’re welcome to it,” he said.

The officer snorted. “You’re a true gentleman of the road,” he said. “I’ll be sure to remember your face—if I can stop confusing it with all those other elves.”

“And I’ll be sure to remember yours,” said Thaegoth. “If I can stop confusing it with all those other humans.” He turned and headed north through the snow. The cold tried to make him shiver, though he ignored it. He kept walking, into Skyrim.


	2. The Last

“There you go,” said Thorald. “Nice and sharp.” He stayed where he was sitting, at the grindstone up at the Skyforge. Sonja took the blade from him, the heavy steel longsword she’d always favoured, and ran its edge lightly across one of her fingertips. She felt the sting and sucked away the tiny red line of blood that appeared.

“Why you gotta do that?” asked Thorald. “You watched me sharpen the damn thing.”

Sonja shrugged. “You’re getting pretty quick at this,” she said. The evening was drawing near and half of Thorald’s face was in shadow as he stared at his hands.

“Still nowhere near father,” he said in a low voice.

Sonja felt herself freeze up. She wondered whether to put a hand on Thorald’s shoulder, whether that was something he’d appreciate. She supposed she didn’t know him that well, really. Six months since a twisted figure had crept over the walls of Whiterun, broken the doors to Jorrvaskr, and massacred the Companions. Six months, and Sonja could still feel the pity and wariness in peoples’ eyes whenever she went out in the city.

Thorald took a deep breath. “Didn’t you say you had a job?” he asked.

Sonja made herself shift her feet. “Just someone stealing stuff from out at Nazeem’s new farm,” she said. The farmer who’d come to her—not Nazeem himself, of course—with the problem had seen past her into the broken and disused state of Jorrvaskr. The servants, too, had been casualties in the massacre. Not to mention Thorald’s father, Eorlund Gray-Mane, possibly the greatest smith Skyrim had—and Thorald’s uncle, Vignar, a former Companion residing in Jorrvaskr. Only Sonja and Aela, the Harbinger, had escaped the slaughter, being out hunting trolls in the Pale. But Sonja was determined to uphold the Companions’ good name, even if that meant stooping to catching chicken-thieves.

“Job’s a job,” said Thorald. He coughed. “Have you tried to get Aela to go?”

Sonja looked down towards Jorrvaskr. A desolate place, these days. Aela only left her room to get supplies from the Bannered Mare. The Harbinger had gotten drunk there, at first. But even through the haze that had settled over her life, she could recognised the image she was projecting. Now she kept her bouts with the bottle to her room.

“I’ll try again,” said Sonja. She shook her head and tried to focus on something other than the emptiness that now seemed louder than any noise that had once echoed across Jorrvaskr. She’d only joined the Companions a couple of months before the massacre—she could not imagine what Aela was feeling, with comrades she had known for more than a decade swept aside in a few moments.

“What about you?” she asked.

Thorald waved a hand and rose unsteadily from the grindstone. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. He turned his face away and the skin across his shoulders shuddered. “You better get your armour on if you’re going to lay in wait for those thieves,” he said.

“Thorald, I—”

“You know I got your back, right?” he said, turning back to face her.

Sonja frowned. “You’re not coming with me,” she said.

Thorald took a step back and she cursed her harsh tone. She opened her mouth to correct herself but he got there before her.

“Not what I meant,” he said. “I ain’t sure I got a fight left in me now. But I mean . . . even at home, dealing with Avulstein, and mother, all of that. You need my help, you know where I am.”

“Thorald, you done more than anyone expected you to,” Sonja said quickly. “Taking over the Skyforge, even when you had no stake here, it’s—”

“No stake?” asked Thorald, jabbing a finger towards her. “This was father’s life! And do you think uncle ever talked about anything other than the good old days with the Companions? Sleeping out here, for the Nine’s sake. Mother was always on at him about it, but he was having none of it.”

“It’s his right,” said Sonja, remembering what Vilkas had told her when she joined.

“So what if it was?” said Thorald. “Man couldn’t hold onto more than one thing at a time.” He picked up a piece of leather from his workbench and kneaded it without purpose. “What I’m saying is, I don’t want to be like that.”

“You know, you could still join if—”

“You’re not listening!” said Thorald. He stepped back again. “I can work here and be a good son. They’re, they’re the same thing. I don’t want to join the Companions. Haven’t held a sword other than to sharpen it since . . . well.”

Sonja looked at him for a moment, aware her swordpoint had come up a little when he’d yelled. She lowered it again.

“I don’t want you to be mad at me,” she said.

“I’m not mad at you.” He met her eyes and said, “Really, you better get going.” He smiled, and she could tell it had taken a lot of effort for him to force it up. She couldn’t manage one of her own.

“You’ll be here tomorrow?” she asked. She couldn’t bear the thought of the Skyforge lying as cold as Jorrvaskr.

He smile got close to genuine. “Who else is gonna fix your shield when you break it again?” he asked. Sonja hesitated a moment more before wishing him a good evening and descending the stairs back down to the great hall of the Companions. She held her hand on the wood of the door for a moment before entering.

The central fire pit hadn’t been lit since she’d stoked it up for enough light to wash out all of the bloodstains, after the massacre. It had taken her a week, on her own. There was still a dark patch downstairs on the wall that she hadn’t been able to shift. Maybe if she didn’t catch the thieves she’d punish herself by giving it another try. Though it had to be done either way.

Sword back in its scabbard, she trod downstairs into the Harbinger’s anteroom. She knocked on the door of the bedroom. There was a delay, then a grunt. Sonja pushed her way in and found the Harbinger lying on her back on the bed. Sonja watched Aela’s eye movements and concluded that she was hungover rather than drunk. She hated herself for being annoyed—the ideal place to get Aela to do things was around drinks four and five. Near impossible to catch her at that point, of course.

Aela didn’t say anything, or look at Sonja, and the silence stretched on.

“I’m heading out,” said Sonja. “That job at Nazeem’s new farm.” Aela snorted at the name and scratched furiously for a moment at her forehead. “I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

Silence. Sonja kicked at one of the bottles on the floor. The clack it made as it hit the wall brought Aela’s eyes to meet Sonja’s.

“Thieves,” said Aela.

“That’s right,” said Sonja.

“At a farm. You know what that means. You’re hunting chicken-thieves. Maybe they’re getting a few cabbages while they’re there.”

It was more words than Aela had said in days, but Sonja could only feel her usual mix of shame and anger. The Harbinger was right—even in the short months before the massacre, Sonja had taken part in wolf hunts, raided bandit camps, hunted down fugitives, and settled disputes between feuding landowners. And now she was off to hide in a bush and wait for the great vegetable thief of Whiterun to appear.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Sonja, remembering Thorald’s words. “Jobs are jobs.” She didn’t want to remind Aela of what she could not help but remember, every hour of the day and night: they had not the strength of arms to accomplish more.

“Jobs are jobs,” murmured Aela. She looked back at the ceiling and scrunched her eyes closed. “I think there’s a full bottle on the shelf,” she said. She reached out a hand in that general direction.

Sonja didn’t look. “Get it yourself,” she said, turning away. “Maybe that’ll get you up.” She left the room and considered it a minor miracle she didn’t slam the door.

In her own room she donned her hide armour. Despite what Thorald had said, she was going without her usual heavy steel set tonight, and her shield. Even the slightest of clunking could give her position away to the thieves. She checked her sword was clear in its scabbard, and that both her belt knife and boot knife were secure. She stomped upstairs, not looking at Aela’s door as she passed it.

Hurling aside a chair that thoughtlessly got in her way, Sonja exited into the young night of Whiterun.


	3. Dead Man's Tales

Thaegoth didn’t want to wander into Falkreath still holding his stolen parcel. He saw the town from the south and kept out of its sight, curving around to the west, looking for a good place for his stas. He stayed just off the road, but there were no travellers. Evening had settled over Skyrim, and though the air seemed fresher, the threat of pursuit still hung over his mind.

Eventually he found a low round stone ruin. Its door was bordered by a pair of skeletons, so, expecting traps, he climbed over the stones themselves to drop into the open centre courtyard. A tiny man-made glade. A single tree pressed against the wall to the west and long grass covered the ground. An open chest lay almost hidden to his left. He secured the parcel in the gap between the chest and the wall, and took a few steps back and around the space to assure himself it could not be seen. Satisfied, he heaved the chest lid closed, flinching at the heavy sound it made.

He went out through the ruin itself, sword drawn as he trod around the narrow corridor. If there was a trap of any kind, someone had triggered it long ago. Back between the skeletons, he retraced his steps until he was entering Falkreath from the south, as if he had just come up from Cyrodiil. A guard pointed him towards the inn—a sign proclaimed it Dead Man’s Drink, which made Thaegoth smirk.

The place had about half a dozen other patrons, which let Thaegoth find a seat away enough from everyone. He found a bench seat that let him lean his back against the wall and survey the room. A Nord woman soon approached him, an easy smile on her face.

“Anything I can get you?” she asked. “A strong drink will chase off that chill in the air.”

Thaegoth returned the smile and leaned his forearms onto the table. When he lifted his hand up there was a gold piece sitting there. “Wine, if you’d be so kind,” he said.

The woman took the gold and headed to the bar. Thaegoth looked at the other patrons. A Redguard woman in furs was warming her hands by the fire. A little blonde Breton man was at a seat at the opposite end to the bar, restringing a lute. A big Nord man in hide armour was nursing a bottle of something, listening to another Nord, larger, who was talking in hushed tones and sent a dark look towards Thaegoth when he thought the Bosmer wasn’t looking. Another Nord with a grimy face and dirt under his nails was further along from Thaegoth, conversing pleasantly with an Altmer in brown robes, though the latter was not drinking.

When the waitress brought Thaegoth his drink, he used his best smile on her and said, “This is my first time in Skyrim. I was wondering where the best place might be to find some work.”

The waitress smiled back at him. “Afraid I can’t chat on the job,” she said, flicking her head towards the Imperial woman standing behind the bar. “But if you take a room we can . . . talk later.”

Thaegoth ran his fingers around the edge of his wine bottle. “It saddens me more than I can put into words that I cannot do so.”

The waitress sighed. “Been an era since we had a handsome man in Falkreath,” she said. “And you’re just passing through, I suppose. Well, if you’re ever in these parts again . . .”

“I’ll be sure to come by,” said Thaegoth. The waitress winked at him and moved away. Once she was gone, he caught the Redguard woman at the fire looking at him. After a minute, she came and sat across the bench from him. There were touches of grey in her shaggy black hair and her large pack included a hunting bow and a woodcutter’s axe alongside it.

“Can I help you?” asked Thaegoth, when the woman didn’t speak. She cleared her throat.

“Apologies,” she said. “Been a while since I talked proper. Get to talkin to the trees just to keep in practice.”

“You don’t live in town?” asked Thaegoth, taking a long drink.

The woman shook her head. “Been huntin and fishin in these parts for years,” she said. “Only come into town to sell the pelts and resupply. Name’s Waylas.” She extended a hand across the bench and Thaegoth, after a moment’s hesitation, took it. Her palm was dry and hard, weathered from her outdoor life.

“Thaegoth,” said Thaegoth. “Up from Cyrodiil,” he added, when his name didn’t feel like enough.

“Aye, I heard ya talkin to Narri,” said Waylas. “Said you were lookin for work.”

“That’s right,” said Thaegoth, leaning forward.

“What sorta skills might you have, before I give an answer?” said Waylas.

Thaegoth paused. “I guess I’m a fighter,” he said. Close enough to be true. He could hold his own in a straight fight if he had to—his swordwork was sloppy, but fast.

“Well then,” said Waylas, “you got yourself a few options. Whether the Legion is for fighters is arguable”—she grinned suddenly—“but it’s worth mentionin.”

Thaegoth shook his head. Not after all his interactions with them over the years, most of them some distance from positive. The officer up in the pass hadn’t exactly endeared the local arm of organisation to him, anyway.

“Good decision,” said Waylas. “Ain’t much for them to do since the civil war ended . . . let’s see, seven or eight years back now. More like guards in different uniform, if we’re bein honest. Assumin they’re out too, by the way?”

“Definitely,” said Thaegoth. Waylas grinned again.

“Well that makes it easier,” she said. “There’s your freelance bounty hunter—mind you, sometimes free from a good payday. There’s your arena over in Windhelm. I never head up that way myself, but I hear they pay well enough if ya sign on as a permanent fighter. Hard life, though.”

“Is there no Fighters Guild in Skyrim?” asked Thaegoth. He’d always wondered whether he could have made it in that organisation.

“Nah,” said Waylas. She looked off to the side for a moment. “There is . . . nah, they’re barely together these days. Might’ve folded altogether, from what I’ve heard.”

“Who?” asked Thaegoth.

“The Companions,” said Waylas. “Kinda . . . mercenaries for the common good. Do stuff the guards can’t or won’t. Heroes, some of ‘em were. Dragonborn’s supposed to have joined for a while, before she pissed off to wherever.”

“You said ‘were’?” asked Thaegoth. The common good, though, sounded . . . good. Like exactly the sort of thing he’d been looking for. None of the laziness of the guards, the apparent corruption of the Legion. But still a structure, with comrades and adventures.

“They, uh, ain’t had a good year,” said Waylas. She cleared her throat again. “Someone killed them.”

Thaegoth frowned. “What, all of them? You said they were heroes.”

“Most of ‘em,” said Waylas. “Crept over the wall of Whiterun and butchered everybody who was in the hall. Walls covered in blood, I heard. Someone with daedric bullshit backin them up. Don’t seem fair to the rest of us.”

“Who was it?” asked Thaegoth.

Waylas looked at the table for a while. “They call her the Burned Woman. Last year she killed a bunch of people across Skyrim—most wanted person around. Still is, though she’s vanished. Most towns got a story about her. Most famous person since the Dragonborn.”

“Why Burned?” asked Thaegoth.

“She, uh, has a burn down her face,” said Waylas, gesturing down the left side of her face. “Or maybe it’s the other side, I can’t remember.” She looked at the table again. When she spoke again, her voice was a great deal lower and Thaegoth had to lean further. “I ran into her once. Just on the road. Before anybody knew who she was. Shared a meal with her, even. Seemed . . . like something in her was missing.”

“Gods,” was all Thaegoth could say, barely above a whisper.

“Ain’t got a lot to do with them, I think,” said Waylas. Thaegoth slid his bottle of wine across the bench and she drank heavily. “Thanks,” she said when she was done.

Thaegoth took his own mouthful and the pair sat in silence for a time. None of the other patrons appeared to have heard them—their own conversations continued unabated.

“Thought things were quieter up here,” said Thaegoth.

Waylas chuckled. “This is Skyrim,” she said. “We might’ve gotten rid of the dragons and the war and the Dark Brotherhood, but there’s always something going on. Unkillable burned woman and the Thieves Guild are on the rise.”

Thaegoth kept himself very still, his face very neutral.

“The Companions, then?” he said.

“Still one or two there, far as I know,” said Waylas. “Which ain’t far. Don’t know how they can get anything done with so few blades.” She shrugged. “Surprised they ain’t been wiped out for good.”

Thaegoth nodded, then slid two gold pieces across the bench towards her. “Thanks for the intel,” he said, rising. “Have a drink on me, or whatever.”

Waylas put a finger on each coin and looked up at Thaegoth. “Keep it,” she said. “No use for it out in the wilds.”

Thaegoth shrugged and returned the coins to their purse. “Good hunting,” he said, moving towards the door.

“Same to you,” said Waylas.

Thaegoth flicked a smile at the waitress—Narri, Waylas had said—and exited into the coming night of Skyrim. Back on the road, then, past the ruins where he’d hidden the parcel, under the moons and northwards. Onwards to Whiterun.


	4. Rustling

The Western Watchtower was within sight, and yet the guards had taken no action. It was enough to make Sonja spit. She did so, but quietly. The moons had risen over Whiterun Hold, and she was beneath a bush just north of the farm, waiting. She could see south over the low-walled fields to the road and west to the farmhouse, where smoke rose lazily from the chimney. She had arrived early enough to give the farmer warning as to what she was doing, to not emerge no matter what he heard.

Stretched horizontal, her sword unsheathed beside her, Sonja breathed evenly and tried to look in every direction at once. The farmer, on his visit to Jorrvaskr, had been unable to provide any details. He had merely awoken many times to find his fields pulled half-clear of their produce, and several chickens missing. Sonja had examined the surrounding area for tracks, but had turned up nothing. She knew that had Aela been with her, they’d already be tracking the thieves back to their camp—they didn’t call her the Huntress for nothing.

The distant sound of voices reached her and she tensed. She flicked her eyes northward without moving any other part of her body. Coming over the nearest hill were two figures, talking with each other. Bickering, from the body language, though their hoods prevented her from seeing their faces. Sonja waited. If she emerged from her hiding place too soon, the thieves would just scarper over the hill, or else she’d have no proof that they were thieves at all. She kept her breathing low and watched as one figure pulled up carrots while the other herded a chicken into a corner.

That was when she caught sight of someone coming down the road from the west. What business did someone have travelling at this hour? She cursed silently. If the thieves saw them, then her little plan would be ruined. Sonja decided to take the risk that the traveller wasn’t someone who wanted to stab her. Or else maybe she’d stab them first. She broke cover, sword in hand, and yelled at the thieves to halt, leaping the low wall into the field.

She backhanded the first one, who went down into the dirt with a high yelp, carrots spilling across the ground. She levelled her sword at the second, who withered back but kept a hold on their chicken. She noticed the traveller was loping towards them all, their own sword drawn, and she tried to keep an eye on both them and the two thieves.

As the traveller came closer, Sonja saw that he was a Bosmer in stained leather armour, his dirty blonde hair cut short, and his hand unsure of where to point his sword. He carried no pack and Sonja was immediately suspicious, not to mention annoyed. There was a moment where nobody spoke.

“What’s going on here?” asked the elf.

Sonja sized him up for a moment. A sureness to his movements, and he was slimmer than her. He might be quick, but whether that would let him come out on top in a fight remained an open question.

“Nothing that need concern you,” she said.

“If you’re assaulting people in a field, I think that it does,” said the elf.

“Step away,” said Sonja. “Now. This is Companions business.”

Something shifted in the elf’s face. “You’re with the Companions?” he asked.

“Are you Aela the Huntress?” asked the thief on the ground. Sonja was surprised at the pitch of their voice and looked closer under the moonlight to see that the thief couldn’t be older than thirteen—a Nord boy. She turned to the second thief and gestured that they should remove their hood. The action revealed a Nord girl of around the same age, with the same filthy long black hair and the same cast to her chin and nose as the boy. A pair of kids, thought Sonja.

“No,” she said.

“We heard Aela can track a leaf in a thunderstorm,” said the boy.

“And that she fought a giant in single combat,” said the girl.

“Why are you fighting children on a farm in the dead of night?” the elf asked Sonja.

“Good question,” said the boy. Sonja raised her foot as if to kick him and he scuttled away on his back.

“They’re thieves,” she said. “Been stealing from here all week.”

“Are you going to kill us?” asked the girl.

“There’ll be no killing tonight,” said the elf.

Sonja lowered her sword but kept up her glare. “Is that so?” she said.

The elf nodded slowly, then abruptly sheathed his sword and came up with a hasty smile. “This probably isn’t the best time to ask,” he said, “but I was hoping to join the Companions.”

Sonja’s breath caught. This self-righteous fool in their ranks? Then she remembered something Vilkas had said to her in the first week that she’d joined, having gone to him to complain about Njada Stonearm. He’d told her that their personal grievances didn’t matter—he had his own with Eorlund, he confessed—the work they were doing was important enough that they had to put it all aside.

“We can join too,” said the boy.

“No we can’t, the boss’ll skin us,” said the girl.

“You work for somebody?” asked the elf.

“There’s no interrogation here,” said Sonja, extending a hand towards him. “I’m taking these two in. If you want into the Companions, you’ll give me a hand.”

The elf inclined his head. “Of course,” he said. But after a pause, he added, “But are you not curious? And surely if we do not investigate they will return to this boss as soon as they finish serving their time in jail.” He looked quickly at the two kids. “I’m assuming neither of you have the money to pay the fine?”

“Course not,” said the boy, while the girl shook her head.

“Ain’t even got any Guild connections,” said the girl.

Sonja thought she saw the elf shiver just a little. “It’s not important,” she said. “What matters is stopping the crime.”

“I suppose you’d rather just kill them here,” said the elf. “That would stop the crime. Some guards I’ve known would not hesitate in that.”

Sonja thought about the blood that was on her hands for a moment, then moved it aside. There were deaths, but none that weighed on her conscience. Her dreams were untroubled.

“The Companions are not guards,” she said eventually.

“So I’ve been informed,” said the elf.

Sonja took an intake of breath. “This is taking too long,” she said. She waved her sword at the two kids. “You two, get moving.”

“Which way?” asked the boy, all innocent.

“Just go,” said the girl, gently lowering the chicken she’d been holding onto. Together the kids started on the road east to Whiterun, Sonja walking behind them with her sword drawn. The elf fell in beside her. For a minute or so there was no sound but their four sets of steps on the road.

“I should say,” said the elf, “my name is Thaegoth. I have recently come up from Cyrodiil.”

“I’m Maeve,” said the girl, looking over her shoulder. “This is my brother Galt.”

“Shut up,” said Galt. “We shouldn’t be talking to them.”

“You shut up,” said Maeve.

“Both of you shut up,” said Sonja, “else you’ll do the rest of the trip in a sack.” After a pause, she said her name without looking at Thaegoth. Out of the corner of her eye she caught him looking at her.

“You hail from Whiterun?” he asked.

Sonja grunted. “I do now,” she said. “From Markarth, before.”

“I’m afraid I know little of Markarth,” said Thaegoth. “Little of Skyrim, really, apart from the tales that seep southwards.”

Sonja was starting to regret not stabbing him first and talking later. “You want to join the Companions,” she said, “that’ll have to change quickly.” She turned for a moment to see him grinning at her.

“I’ve always been a quick learner,” he said. He turned back towards Maeve and Galt. “So who’s this boss of yours?”

Galt opened his mouth, but Maeve whacked him in the side and the breath went out of him. “Nobody,” she said.

“Ah, Nobody,” said Thaegoth, thoughtfully. “We had a Nobody back in Cyrodiil. I suppose his parents must have run out of ideas. Wonder if he’s any relation to this one? Tall fellow, Breton, nose like an arrow?”

“No, he’s a Nord,” said Galt, before Maeve could stop him. Thaegoth looked at Sonja like he’d just won something. She made sure to maintain her unimpressed expression.

“And where will you go once you’ve served your time?” asked Thaegoth.

Sonja fought the urge to tell him to shut up. That, however, would make her sound rather too much like Maeve just had. Not the impression to give of the Companions, to be sure.

“Dunno,” said Galt.

“Back to . . . Nobody, I guess,” said Maeve. “Ain’t nowhere else for us to go.”

“You see?” said Thaegoth, leaning closer to Sonja. She fought the urge to shove him into the dirt. “It’s the cycle of crime. I’ve seen it time and again. A lack of opportunities, the system fails them. The prison doesn’t do much more than postpone the crime—there’s no, uh, rehabilitation going on. If there was some other opportunity waiting for them upon their release . . .”

“A job?” asked Sonja, her voice loaded with scorn. “Who’s going to give two thieves a job? You?”

Thaegoth stood straight and puffed out his chest. She wanted to laugh in his face. “If I have to,” he said.

“You want to waste your time on them, feel free,” said Sonja. “Just make sure it’s your time, not the Companions’.”

“Oh, so I’m in?” asked Thaegoth, with an insufferable smile.

“Not quite,” said Sonja. It’d been so long for her, she’d almost forgotten the shiver that went up her spine at moments like these. The moments before a fight. She returned Thaegoth’s smile. “There is still the test of arms,” she said.


	5. Test of Arms

Galt and Maeve were turned over to the guards at Dragonsreach, and though Thaegoth wanted to stay with them a while longer to make sure everything proceeded smoothly, he figured getting belligerent with the city guards was not the best way to announce his arrival in Whiterun.

Night still hung over the city as Sonja led Thaegoth silently down to Jorrvaskr. Once inside, she looked at him, waiting for him to make some comment about the state of the hall. The empty tables around the cold firepit, the dust piling in the corners, the rusting weapons and empty bottles. However, he did not.

“I’ve had no time,” she said.

“There are no servants?” asked Thaegoth. He pulled a chair upright. Sonja looked away.

“You’ve heard about what happened?” she said.

Thaegoth hesitated. For all he knew, those who had died could have been her closest comrades, bonds forged through years of fighting and travelling and living alongside one another. “I have,” he said.

“That’s why there are no servants,” said Sonja. She was already walking across to the other set of doors. A blessing, she thought, not to have to tell that blood-soaked story again. And a curse, to have everyone around her know it. She pushed open the back doors and flicked a hand towards Thaegoth.

He followed her into the practice yard, out from under the porch with its empty benches, taking in the moon-lit stones, the dummies and arrow targets. He looked up to his left, where a great stone eagle loomed over a higher platform. He pointed at it.

“A patron god?” he asked.

“The Skyforge,” said Sonja. This business was easier than she had supposed—all it took was a repetition of the things she had been told upon her own induction. “Thorald’s not in the Companions, but he helps us out whenever he can. You can introduce yourself tomorrow.” Of course, she wasn’t about to put in any more effort than she had to.

Thaegoth looked around them again. There was a rack of wooden practice swords and he strode to them, flipping one into his hand and giving it a few melodramatic thrusts.

“We’ll be using these, I assume?” he asked.

“Steel,” she said, shrugging like it was nothing. “It’s tradition.”

Thaegoth’s eyebrows went up. He tried to gauge Sonja’s fighting ability again—he’d done so upon seeing her at the farm. She had height and reach and weight on him, that much was true. He found himself looking more upon her strong tensed brows and the dark brown hairs escaping from her single plait. He shook his head in an attempt to refocus.

“That armour’s not thick,” he said.

Sonja’s allowed herself a small grin. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” she said.

Thaegoth returned the wooden sword to its rack. “So this traditional test of arms,” he said, his words coming more carefully now, “what exactly is required of me?”

Sonja paced out into the centre of the yard and drew her heavy steel longsword. Her shield was propped against her bed downstairs, but there was no way she could cave in now and run to get it.

“New recruits are required to prove themselves against more experienced members,” she said. “So I can have a look at you. See your form.” A flash came to her of her own test of arms, pushing her sword back against Athis’ as he slipped and fell backwards on the stone, and the laughter that had risen from Farkas’ throat.

“So you’re in charge then?” asked Thaegoth. He moved to be a few paces away from Sonja and drew his own elven sword, thinner and lighter. Perhaps stronger, he thought.

Sonja frowned. “No,” she said. “Aela is Harbinger.”

“A leader’s position?” asked Thaegoth.

“Not exactly,” said Sonja. “The most senior among us, usually. If you want advice, they’ll give it. If there’s a group of us in the field, they’ll lead us. They try to keep things running smoothly. But more or less we do our own thing.”

Thaegoth nodded his approval. He preferred to operate without too much oversight, though he wouldn’t have considered a more rigid command structure anything like a deal-breaker. He was about to ask how his success would be determined in the fight when Sonja came at him, sword swiping horizontally.

He managed to parry it up and to his right, pivoting in the opposite direction to let her body sail past his. She did not lose her footing, however, and swung at him again before he had a chance to recover. He had assumed that, given that she couldn’t be much over twenty-five, that he would have the edge of experience on her. But as he struggled to block her attacks he realised that he had badly misjudged her.

Sonja’s swings were near as fast as his, and her sword appeared to be a great deal stronger than it ought to be. Keeping half his mind on his footwork, Thaegoth moved about the yard, fending off her blows as best he could. Throughout it all he couldn’t escape the feeling that she was going easy on him. Neither of them landed a direct hit on each other.

Until their swords met and he had to use both hands to push back against her strength. She also had both hands at work, until she smirked at him, released one and used it to punch him in the face. The shock sent him staggering back, the right half of his vision swimming, and he felt an impact on his stomach send him down onto his back. When he looked up he saw Sonja’s blade coming for his throat. At the last second it turned aside, nicking the skin just above his collarbone.

For a time Sonja stood over him, her face flushed red, her sword still so close to his flesh.

“Well?” he asked.

“Find yourself a bed downstairs,” she said. “You’re in.” She was already turning away. At the door she paused, looking back as he got to his feet and dabbed at his cut. “And patch that wound up,” she added. Then she vanished inside, the door closing behind her.

By the time Thaegoth got inside, Sonja was already downstairs in her room, making herself breathe evenly. Thaegoth replaced a new candle in a dying lantern and poked around the hall of Jorrvaskr for a time. Eventually he found both a water barrel and cloth for a bandage, and applied himself to the cut Sonja had given him. It was not deep, and after the twinges of pain when he applied the bandage, it troubled him no more.

Still, he hoisted the lantern with his uncut arm and trod over to the stairs. At the top he paused and looked around the hall again. How many of them were there now? Three, four if this Thorald was counted—which apparently he wasn’t. Still, a group of four, two of whom he hadn’t met, and the third who’d already made him bleed. Not exactly an auspicious beginning. And yet, he thought, he would not have been so interested in the Companions had they been at the peak of their powers. Here, there was something to work with, improvements to make.

The first, he thought, would be to find other recruits. Free to do more or less as they wanted, Sonja had said. Thaegoth wondered how far he could push that, so soon after his joining. He descended the stairs and pushed through the doors into the living quarters of the Companions.

Find a bed, Sonja had said. A long arched hallway stretched to Thaegoth’s right, yet more empty tables and chairs abutting the wall to his left. Directly across from him was an open door. He strode through it to find himself in a common sleeping area, eight beds lining the walls—four on one side, four on the other. All unoccupied. For now, Thaegoth thought. And he had no wish to share if he didn’t have to.

He trod back to the hall and moved softly down its central rug. Passing under a lower wooden archway, he found himself in a space with a closed door ahead of him, and two doorways on either side. First he tried the left doorway. It brought him into an anteroom of sorts, a smaller hall with rooms coming off either side. The door of the right room was open, but the left room’s door was closed. From under it, a crack of light protruded.

On the other side of the door, Sonja saw the light from Thaegoth’s lantern and sat in silence, not daring to breathe. She wasn’t sure what she would do if he knocked—demanding more information from her. Hadn’t she done enough already? The night had gone in plenty of sour directions already, she thought.

Outside, Thaegoth investigated the room opposite Sonja’s. Taking that one, he thought, would perhaps be too forward. They would have to work together, to be sure, but he could at least wait until morning before finding out how she was disposed towards him. He trod back into the main hall and went through the other hallway. A mirror of the previous, with two open doors leading into two unoccupied rooms.

The room on the left sported an adequate bed, but also a bar. Thaegoth chuckled softly at the Nords and took the other room. It was nicer than many he had stayed in, and with a little work, he thought, he could easily make it his own. He wondered which of the previous Companions had occupied it before him. Placing the lantern on the table, he turned over the cover of a book— _Lycanthropic Legends of Skyrim._ Interesting enough, but not for tonight. He almost tore off his leather armour and relished the freedom of his unhindered skin meeting the air. Naked now, he slipped under the covers and was asleep in moments.

Across the main hall in her room, Sonja cleaned her sword and prayed to the Nine for a dreamless sleep.


	6. New Steel

When Thaegoth awoke he stared for a long time at the unfamiliar ceiling. The timbers revealed nothing and he eventually rose and found a set of clothes in the cupboard that, while perhaps slightly nibbled by moths, proved an adequate fit, once he rolled the sleeves up. In the main hall of the living quarters there was only silence, and he wondered how late he had slept. No way to tell, beneath the earth.

The door to what he presumed to be the Harbinger’s quarters was closed, as was Sonja’s door. He trod upstairs, without his sword, and found the main hall just as silent. He exited by the back doors and found, in the chill dawn, the practice yard to be the third silent place. However, the clink of metal on metal revealed that somebody was moving around up at the Skyforge. Thaegoth walked around Jorrvaskr to find the stairs and trod his cautious way up. Thorald was the name Sonja had said—it wouldn’t do to forget it, there being so few people he could say he knew in Skyrim.

The smith was not the musclebound mountain Thaegoth had expected. Instead, Thorald was a grey-haired man, wiry but with slow uncertain movements. However, he looked up soon enough upon Thaegoth’s appearance.

“We ain’t open to the public,” said Thorald, turning his gaze back to his work. He got in two more hammer strokes before Thaegoth crossed close enough to be heard.

“My name is Thaegoth,” said he.

Thorald brought his hammer down and said, “Good for you.”

“Sonja recruited me last night,” said Thaegoth.

Thorald paused with his hammer in the air, then let it slowly down onto the bench. He looked at Thaegoth with new eyes, and a frown. It cleared momentarily and Thorald stepped to clear the distance between them, extending his hand. Thaegoth took it, impressed by the man’s grip, which was much stronger than he expected.

“If you’re good enough for Sonja, you’re good enough for me,” said Thorald. He grinned suddenly. "She give you the trial, then?”

“How’d you tell?” asked Thaegoth.

“No mirror in your room, huh?” said Thorald. “You got a black eye, son.”

Thaegoth poked gingerly at his right eye and felt the weight of the pain. She’d hit him harder than he’d thought.

“Did you even get close to taking her down?” asked Thorald.

Thaegoth wondered if there was some Nordic tradition to pretend success in every fight, to boast of victories where there were none. Wanting to fit in, but not knowing how, he opted for the truth.

“I underestimated her,” he admitted.

Thorald smiled. “Aye, it’s happened to better men than you,” he said. “And women, come to think of it. She bring you up to speed?”

Thaegoth shrugged. “Not exactly,” he said. He wondered if he should’ve knocked on Sonja’s door this morning. How much of their days were expected to be devoted to Companions-related duties?

“And you ain’t from Skyrim, are you?” asked Thorald.

“Cyrodiil,” said Thaegoth, shaking his head.

“Aye, I should’ve known from your accent,” said Thorald. “This wouldn’t be your first trip to old Whiterun, would it?”

“It would,” said Thaegoth. He found there was something appealing to him in Thorald’s manner.

“Well now,” said Thorald. He looked momentarily at the workbench. “Sonja ain’t one for filling people in, that’s for sure. And Aela . . . you feeling the urge for some breakfast?”

“I could,” said Thaegoth. “But I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work,” he added, gesturing to the scattered pieces of metal and leather.

“Nah, I ain’t even lit the forge proper yet,” said Thorald. “Come on, we’ll head down to the Bannered Mare.” He wiped his hands and moved towards the stairs. Thaegoth followed, silently adjusting his speed to the man’s slower pace.

Through his now heavier breathing down the stairs, Thorald said, “Right, welcome to Whiterun. Which Sonja won’t have said. And it’s a place you’re gonna have to know if you’re gonna be a Companion. You get a chance to look around coming in?”

Thaegoth shook his head. “Just up to the dungeon . . . Dragonsreach.”

“Aye, that’s the Jarl’s place, Balgruuf,” said Thorald. He grunted in a way Thaegoth couldn’t interpret. “Been almost as unlucky recently as the Companions. We’ll get to that.” He gestured to Jorrvaskr as they walked alongside it. “You seen old Ysgramor’s hall already. Ain’t my place to tell you the histories there.”

“You’re not in the Companions?” asked Thaegoth quietly.

“Nah, my fighting days are past,” said Thorald.

“You don’t seem that old,” said Thaegoth, as they stepped into Whiterun proper. He halted, staring up at the wide branches of the tree that spread over the city.

“That’s the Gildergreen,” said Thorald, and Thaegoth didn’t pick him up on the change of subject. The Nord stopped and waved his hand around. There were few people about other than a guard on their patrol. “This here’s the Wind District,” said Thorald, pointing as he ran off the list. “The temple, hall of the dead behind it, my family’s place there . . . some other houses.” He pointed uphill. “Cloud District is just Dragonsreach and the dungeons. Anybody who actually calls it the Cloud District is someone you’ll be wanting to avoid.”

He gestured downhill and they resumed walking. “But we’re heading down to the Plains District.” At the top of the stairs Thaegoth could see the traders setting up their stalls around the well. “Marketplace, few stores and more houses. And our great destination—the Bannered Mare.”

“An inn, I presume?” asked Thaegoth, as they descended the stairs.

“Only the finest in Skyrim,” said Thorald. He smiled at a few of the people in the market and pushed his way through the door into the inn. Thaegoth followed and found himself in a room very reminiscent of Dead Man’s Drink in Falkreath, although arranged in a slightly different way. The same smells, though, the same crackling fire and patrons talking over their drinks.

Thorald hailed the Redguard woman behind the bar. “Saadia, my girl! You still got it in you to cook up some breakfast for a couple of old souls like us?”

Thaegoth caught Saadia looking him up and down for a moment before she answered. “Course I do, Thorald,” she said.

“You’re a saint, Saadia,” said Thorald, and lead Thaegoth over to a table against the back wall, easing down into a chair with a sigh. Thaegoth sat opposite, warily casing the room. There were only two other patrons, who by their uniforms were off-duty guards.

“This the only inn in town?” asked Thaegoth.

“Why, there something wrong with it?” asked Thorald, suddenly leaning across the table.

“Not at all,” said Thaegoth, raising his palms. “I just . . .”

“Ah, I’m just messing with you,” said Thorald. “Proud of the city, though it’s seen better days.” He coughed and winced as one of his shoulders cracked. “Right,” he said. “Everything you need to know about Whiterun. The short version, anyway.”

“You mentioned something about the Jarl?” asked Thaegoth.

“Aye,” said Thorald, looking at the table. “Ain’t really any way around it: won’t be long til he’s up in Sovngarde.”

Thaegoth’s eyebrows went up. “Why?” was the first question he could think of.

“Well,” said Thorald, “he is old, but we all thought he had a good decade left in him. More, even. But a few weeks back his eldest, Frothar, got himself killed. Old man’s not left his bed since, is the word.”

“Killed?” asked Thaegoth. Skyrim was a dangerous place, by all accounts, but surely there were safeguards in place for the sons of Jarls.

“Fell from his horse,” said Thorald, his expression darkening.

“Are there other children?” asked Thaegoth. He was unsure whether the holds of Skyrim operated on a strict line of succession or not.

“Aye, two more,” said Thorald. “Both grown now, or near enough. But Dagny went south to the Imperial City years ago, ain’t nobody had word from her since. Even when her brother died—nothing. And there’s Nelkir. Only respect for this establishment’s floors is keeping me from spitting at the name.”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Thaegoth.

Thorald waved a hand. “Nothing you could put your finger on, really. Just something off about him. Besides, you hear stories.”

“What kind of stories?” asked Thaegoth. He hadn’t expected Whiterun to be as infested with intrigue as all this. Skyrim held more than just legends of dragons and their slayers, it seemed.

Thorald shook his head. “Have to find someone else if you want gossip,” he said.

At that point Saadia slid a plate in front of each of them, piled with fried eggs, sausages, and maize cakes. Tankards of ale soon followed.

“You’re a saint, Saadia,” said Thorald.

“You used that one already,” she said, her face lined with weariness. “Settle your tab with Hulda, my shift’s done.”

“Wait a moment, wait a moment,” said Thorald, knife and fork already in hand. “I ain’t introduced you yet. This here’s Thaegoth, the new steel up at Jorrvaskr.”

Saadia, who had been turning away, stopped in her tracks and peered close at Thaegoth. He noticed, too, that the guards across the room had caught Thorald’s words.

“That so,” said Saadia. She shook her head. “Gods-damned shame what happened to them, I say. The more new blood, the better.” She strode off, though Thaegoth saw that the guards were not examining him with such favourable expressions. Then he remembered that he hadn’t eaten since Cyrodiil and focussed on the meal. Which was, he had to admit, delicious.

When they were both sitting back drinking their ale—Thaegoth holding back a face at the taste—he tried to realign his mind to the task he considered most important.

“Where might I be able to find other recruits?” he asked. “For the Companions?”

Thorald took so long to finish his ale that Thaegoth wondered whether he might have made some grievous mistake. The Nord put his tankard down and frowned.

“Maybe just . . . hold back on that for a while,” he said. “People round here, they’re not always so keen on change. They’d prefer the old Companions back, just like they were.” He held out a hand to forestall Thaegoth’s objection. “Yeah, impossible. I know. Still, that’s how it is. And we got other problems.”

“Like what?” asked Thaegoth.

Thorald leaned closer across the table. “A dying Jarl, for one?” he said. “With one heir absent and the other a little—” He coughed. “And the Guild’s getting bigger and bigger, half the guards in Skyrim are in their pocket, who knows who else.”

Thaegoth was silent for a while, considering things. A new city, a new set of problems. “And I’m a foreigner,” he said.

“Aye, there’s that,” said Thorald. “Won’t bother most—Athis, in the old Companions, he was a Dunmer, for gods’ sake. But some, yeah, think the Companions is for the Nords. And nobody else.”

Thaegoth nodded, too numb to such attitudes to do anything else. Even in Cyrodiil, the cosmopolitan heart of the Empire, he had still attracted discrimination. Sneers and shoves in the street, businesses who refused to serve him. Even the occasional cornering in a back alley. Though with his speed, those usually went in his favour.

“And the Dragonborn?” he asked, remembering what the hunter, Waylas, had said in Falkreath. “Pissed off to wherever?”

Thorald’s expression darkened again. “This time I ain’t messing with you,” he said. “You keep that sorta talk to yourself. She saved this damn city and this whole . . . gods-damned reality. Not to mention my own worthless hide. You won’t find nothing but respect for her here.”

“Even if she’s vanished?” asked Thaegoth.

“Even then,” said Thorald. He snorted. “Nobody believes she’s really gone,” he said. “She retired once before, even.” He waved a hand towards the door. “Jarl’s even keeping her house free—everybody knows she’ll come back sooner or later. When we need her.”

“Until then, you’ve got me,” said Thaegoth.

Thorald made an amused choking sound and Thaegoth felt some relief that he hadn’t pushed things past redeeming. “You and Sonja and Aela, now,” said Thorald.

Thaegoth hesitated at his next question. He supposed he didn’t have anyone else to ask. “About Sonja,” he said. “Has anyone ever tried to . . . you know?”

“What?” asked Thorald, his eyes widening. “Woo her?” He laughed so hard he had to grip his chair to keep from falling.


	7. The Bridge

Thaegoth and Thorald parted ways outside Jorrvaskr, the latter still chuckling. Inside, Thaegoth found Sonja in full steel armour, clearing junk off one of the firepit tables. She froze as soon as he entered and was furious at herself for doing so. This was her home, such as it was, and she refused to be ashamed of it. His home now too, she reminded herself.

“Good morning,” said Thaegoth, inclining his head slightly. He didn’t move closer to her and wondered what the protocol was for addressing someone who’s drawn your blood.

“Is your room . . .?” asked Sonja, cursing herself.

“It’s fine,” said Thaegoth. “It needs—”

“Some cleaning up.” Sonja looked down at the tiny amount of work she’d managed to get done and wished she could just go back to her own room.

“It can wait,” said Thaegoth. “Let me give you a hand there.” He moved over to the table but Sonja held out a hand.

“No,” she said. She cleared her throat. “I was wondering if you’d be up to taking on some bandits. If you need more time to recover . . .”

It took Thaegoth a moment to remember what she was talking about. He flexed the wounded arm. “I am equally skilled with both hands,” he said.

“Oh,” said Sonja. Athis, of the old Companions, had been the same. She wondered if it was an elf thing and opened her mouth to ask before catching herself. “Oh,” she said again instead. “Then get ready and we’ll head out.”

While Thaegoth was descending the stairs—near-running as soon as he was through the door to the living quarters—and donning his leather armour, Sonja paced the length of Jorrvaskr. Against her inclination she poked her head into the room that had been occupied by Vignar Gray-Mane and his servant Brill. She wondered how many years they would have to wait before an ex-Companion was old enough to occupy the place again. Presumably it could serve as guest quarters. Not that they were likely to have guests.

Sonja checked her sword again, and the steel shield that had suffered more dents than she could remember. And yet not enough for Thorald to stop complaining about putting them right. She ran over a few possibilities for an apology to Thaegoth, for cutting him. I’m sorry about . . . not keeping a hold on myself. For getting the better of you (here, she smirked). For slipping. For insisting we fight with steel. For pushing too far.

Thaegoth, in his leather armour, paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked down to the Harbinger’s chambers. He wondered if he’d ever see anything there but a closed door. Running a hand through his hair, he climbed back up to see Sonja preparing to say something. He might be equipped to deal with bandits, but he has pretty sure an apology would lay him right out.

“Where are we heading?” he asked quickly.

Sonja’s mouth clamped shut and anger flashed across her face, just as quickly vanishing. “Valtheim Towers,” she said. In the silence she realised the name would mean nothing to Thaegoth. This would be exhausting, this constant explaining of things every Whiterun native knew from childhood. “East,” she added. That would have to do.

Neither of them said anything as they walked through Whiterun. Sonja, not totally cut off from the world, led them through the Wind District and down the stairs closer to the gate, avoiding the gossip of the market. Still, they noticed eyes upon them. Thaegoth guessed that between Saadia and the off-duty guards, word of his recruitment must have spread quickly. In that sense Whiterun was an odd town, he thought. Large enough to be able to throw its weight around, politically and economically speaking, but small enough that gossip could spread like wildfire.

Then they were on the road, across the river, heading east. Thaegoth’s eyes followed a butterfly dancing between flowers. The sun was warm, but gently so, and there were only a few wisps of white cloud in the blue sky. A pleasant day for some bandit-killing, he thought, smiling to himself.

“What is this place—Valtheim?” he asked.

Sonja fought back a sigh. She supposed a certain amount of explanation was necessary, if they were going to work together and not die.

“It’s a ruin spanning the river,” she said. “Towers on either side, connected by a bridge. Right next to the road from Whiterun to Windhelm.”

“Lucrative, then,” said Thaegoth. “For the bandits, that is.”

Sonja sniffed. That was one way to look at things. “Clear them out and a different lot moves in straight away.”

“Why haven’t the guards done something?” asked Thaegoth.

“They ain’t got the numbers,” said Sonja. “Regular patrols, and they spend a lot of time dealing with the Thieves Guild these days.” She scratched at her nose. “Though they seem to leave us alone up at Jorrvaskr.” It would be too much to hope for that the Guild was scared away by the Companions’ reputation, in tatters as it was. Maybe it was out of pity.

“Who, the guards or the Guild?” asked Thaegoth.

Sonja snorted. “Both,” she said.

“The latter because of the shadowmark on your door,” said Thaegoth. He frowned, wondering if he should have said ‘our door’, before Sonja spoke again.

“The what?”

Ah. “It’s a . . . code, of sorts. Guild uses it to communicate, leave messages, that sort of thing.”

“And there’s one on my door,” said Sonja. She fought to keep her tone from dropping into accusation.

“. . . for danger,” said Thaegoth. He studied the mountains for a while, ignoring Sonja’s gaze boring into his head.

“And how do you know about this?” asked Sonja.

Thaegoth shrugged. He swore he’d used to be a much better liar than this. “Read it in a book,” he said. “Back in Cyrodiil.”

“Right,” said Sonja. She didn’t say anything else until Valtheim Towers were in sight, spurs on stone stretching upwards. The bridge looked rather precarious to Thaegoth, so thin and so high above the river. He wondered at the construction practices of the ancient Nords. It had held until today, he supposed. No use thinking about its collapse now.

“They’ll know we’re coming,” said Sonja. She flicked her head upwards, and Thaegoth looked to see a platform with an archer at the top of the nearest tower. “Keep your hand away from your sword.”

“Maybe they’ll be sleeping in,” said Thaegoth.

Sonja chose to ignore that. “Follow my lead,” she said. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to nod. When he did, they proceeded up the hill towards the door at the base of the tower. A leisurely pace, just two armed and armoured friends out for a stroll. Despite Sonja’s caution, there was indeed nobody posted outside the tower. Just a cold fire and an empty cookpot marked the location.

Sonja looked for a moment at Thaegoth, then kicked down the door. Immediately there was a bandit hacking at her shield, forcing her back into the open. Thaegoth slashed in from the side and the distraction was enough to let Sonja push forward again, kicking hard at the bandit’s knee and cutting through their shoulder.

Another bandit appeared at the top of the stairs to their right. Sonja paused, unwilling to tackle them when they had the high ground. Thaegoth pulled a dagger from his belt and it appeared in the bandit’s side. Sonja hurtled up the stairs and finished them off. She hesitated, looking around her shield out onto the outside ramp that led to the bridge and other level of the tower.

“What are you waiting for?” breathed Thaegoth, having retrieved his dagger. “Cross already!”

They could see a figure in heavy armour beginning to cross the bridge. The chief, no doubt. Sonja shook her head, trying to find the right words through her battle-focus.

“Arrows from behind,” she managed to say. “Above.”

“I’ll deal with that,” said Thaegoth. “You hold the bridge.”

Sonja wanted to pull seniority on him but he was already darting up the ramp and had vanished inside the tower by the time she reached the bridge. She looked out across the long thin path of stone and saw a shaggy-bearded Nord man in banded steel armour stomping across to meet her. He was swinging an orcish warhammer and she narrowed her eyes. No helmet, like her. The sacrifice was worth the peripheral vision she gained, as far as she was concerned.

Thaegoth, inside the first tower, gutted a bandit that was struggling to get their boots on. Then he sprinted upstairs and up again to the lookout point, finding the archer trying to draw a mark on Sonja below on the bridge. Thaegoth slipped up beside the archer and sliced open their throat.

He watched as Sonja stepped back to avoid a swing of the chief’s warhammer, moving in only to have her sword clack harmlessly off her foe’s armour. And with the bridge so narrow, there was no help he could offer. More than likely he’d be a hindrance. Still, he ran back down to her level, taking a moment to observe the other bandits across the river—two or maybe three, he reckoned.

Sonja found herself unable to put a dent in the bandit chief. Her shield, thanks to the work of Thorald and the magic of the Skyforge, might be able to take a couple of hits from the warhammer. However, whether her arm could bear the shock of the blow was another debate entirely. She decided to avoid the question. She waited, dodging and backing away along the bridge, until the chief tried a high, head-level swing.

She ducked and kicked him in the shin. He went down on one knee and Sonja slammed her shield into him before he could recover. The chief fell sideways, gauntleted hand scrambling for grip. His warhammer hit the surface of the river a moment before he did.

Thaegoth approached, grinning and looking over the edge. “With all that armour, can’t see him surfacing any time soon,” he said.

Sonja just looked at him and gestured across the bridge with her sword. Thaegoth nodded and followed her across. In the opposite tower Sonja dispatched another bandit with a quick cut to the chest. From that tower’s peak they saw the final bandit fleeing to the east into the trees. Thaegoth was halfway down the stairs before Sonja called after him to wait.

“We have to pursue them!” he said.

Sonja shook her head. “Not worth the trouble,” she said. Slowly she set about cleaning her sword on a dead bandit’s shirt.

“But they’ll reoccupy,” said Thaegoth. “That’s what you said.” His blood was still racing around his body at a frenetic pace and his words were swift, rushed out from between clumsy lips.

“At least you’re listening,” said Sonja. “Better late than never.”

Some of the rush visibly went out of Thaegoth. Sonja was almost disappointed—nothing nicer than an argument to complement a fight.

“You have seniority,” said Thaegoth. He set about cleaning his own weapons. After a delay, Sonja found herself chuckling.

“Only within the Companions,” she said. “I’m twenty-two—bet you got a few years on me. For all I know about elves, you could be a hundred and three.”

Thaegoth grinned at her. “I’m thirty-one,” he said. “But from where I’m standing, looks like you’re the one with the fighting experience.”

Sonja grunted. She headed for the way out of the tower. Thaegoth followed, wondering if she would return the compliment, or protest modestly. There was only silence. They headed back across the bridge, Thaegoth pausing to ransack the dead bandits’ pockets for gold. When Sonja frowned at him, he felt shame for the first time in a while, and something in him snapped.

“What would it take,” he asked, “to convince you I’m serious about this?”

Sonja shrugged and stopped on the road. She thought over some answers for a time before realising every image came up short. “There’s . . . there’s no one great gesture that’ll do it,” she said. “We’re not about that. This is a job for a lifetime. Aela . . . the others, they’d been at this for years. Decades, some of them.”

Thaegoth was silent for a moment before he said, “I’m in this for good.”

Sonja narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t joke about things like that,” she said.

Thaegoth shook his head. “I don’t joke when it matters,” he said.

Sonja looked at him for a long time before saying, “Let’s move,” and leading the way back down the road towards Whiterun.


	8. The Cloud District

Once they were back in Jorrvaskr, Thaegoth felt a need to make himself scarce. Sonja, in truth, was grateful for it. She faded out into the yard to practice her archery and Thaegoth, remembering his promise to give the two chicken-thieves a job if he had to, decided to pay them a visit. Leaving his sword in the hall, he trod in his armour up the many steps to Dragonsreach. It was hard to tell with the guards’ full-faced helmets, but he was sure they were glaring at him.

He retrod the path around Dragonsreach, the hall stretching immense above him, remembering the way he’d come with Sonja when they’d handed Maeve and Galt over. It took him a while of trying to convince the impassive guard to let him pay a visit before he realised he could just bribe his way past. He’d wanted to save the money scavenged from Valtheim Towers for the Companions—though he supposed he could argue this served that purpose too, if the pieces of his plan fell in place.

Inside the long corridor of the dungeon, the curved stone above him, Thaegoth fell small and his eyes flicked around for escape routes. Very few, though of course that was the idea. Maeve was slouched on the bed in her cell and she whacked her brother awake with the back of her hand. Galt was curled in a ball on the bed and flicked apart and upright with a speed that made Thaegoth’s eyebrows rise as he approached the bars.

“Thaegoth!” said Galt, coming forward. Maeve hung back, folding her arms and glaring at him. Thaegoth couldn't guess what he’d done—apart from help to arrest her, he supposed. The cell wasn’t exactly luxurious: one single bed that looked ready to collapse, a damp chair and half a table leaning against the wall.

“She didn’t think you’d come,” said Galt, pointing accusingly at his sister. “But I knew.”

“You don’t know shit,” said Maeve. She spat on the floor.

“That’s not true,” said Galt, immediately turning on her. “Who was it who found those mushrooms when we were starving? Who was that?”

“Me,” said Maeve, like it was commonest of folktales.

“That’s not true!” said Galt. “You were just complaining all the time instead of actually doing anything.” Maeve rolled her eyes.

“Hey,” said Thaegoth, pressing his hands against the bars. “This is entertaining, but it’s not why I’m here.”

“You said you’d get us a job,” said Galt. The hope in his eyes made Thaegoth swallow.

“And you believed him?” asked Maeve, moving forward. “The Companions don’t give people like us jobs. They just arrest them, stab them, kill them.”

“I didn’t stab either of you,” protested Thaegoth. “I’m not going to.”

“Even when our—” started Galt.

“Sentence,” finished Maeve.

“I know what the word is,” insisted Galt. He turned back to Thaegoth. “Even when our sentence is over?”

“Even then,” said Thaegoth, trying a smile. “You won’t have to steal anything, either.”

“Really?” asked Galt.

“You like stealing things,” said Maeve.

“So do you,” said Galt.

“How would you like to work in Jorrvaskr?” asked Thaegoth, struggling to get his words out before they got into full bickering mode again.

“Yes!” said Galt at the same time Maeve said, “Doing what?”

Thaegoth shrugged, giving himself time to come up with the proper phrasing, spin it as a job that would appeal to the pair. He spoke slowly. “Keeping the place in order,” he said.

“Cleaning,” said Maeve, her voice flat. “Running after people.”

“Let me finish,” said Thaegoth. He flicked his eyes to the left. A guard down the end of the corridor, near a door that he presumed led up into Dragonsreach itself, was conversing with a Dunmer woman in leather armour. Both of them were looking at Thaegoth. “More like”—he scrambled around his mind for an appropriate word—“squires.”

Galt’s face lit up and Maeve rolled her eyes again. The guard approached Thaegoth and looked for a moment at the kids, who backed away from the bars.

“The Jarl would like to speak with you,” said the guard, though his tone made it clear that he couldn’t imagine why. Thaegoth nodded like this was something that happened every day and turned back to the kids. Which caused the guard to bang their gauntlet against the bars. The kids flinched and Thaegoth had to stop himself going for his dagger. “That means now,” said the guard.

Thaegoth glared at the guard. “I’ll be back,” he said to the kids. “Maybe the Companions can do something about that Nobody of yours.” He turned away before he could see the looks on their faces. He walked down the corridor and the guard there pointed through the open door. Thaegoth went up the flight of stairs and found himself in a huge open hall, its ceiling so far above him he dismissed it as clearly impossible. To his left were the wide double-doors that led back outside, but when he turned to his right he could see the throne ahead of him, up on its dais, bereft of any Jarl.

Between him and the throne was a firepit, with long tables set a metre or two back from it on either side. The Dunmer woman approached him. She kept one hand on the pommel of the longsword at her hip and Thaegoth had the instinctual feeling that he was again completely outclassed as a fighter.

“You’re the new Companion, then,” she said.

“Thaegoth. Yes,” he said, struggling not to take a step away. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then said, “You have me at a disadvantage, then.”

She grunted and started walking towards the back stairs. Thaegoth hurried to follow and managed to catch what she said as, “Irileth. Housecarl.”

 After being led up a few flights of stairs, down a corridor and through a door, Thaegoth found himself in what was clearly the Jarl’s room. An aged Nord man lay propped up in bed, a beard more grey than red, his eyes fixing strongly on Thaegoth as soon as he entered. Two other Nord men were in the room: a balding man in fine clothes hovering on the opposite side of the bed, and a completely bald man in hide armour in a chair on the same side as Thaegoth.

“Jarl Balgruuf the Greater,” said Irileth, in a tone barely above a grumble, “presenting Thaegoth, newly of the Companions.” The emphasis on ‘newly’ was enough to make Thaegoth feel about a quarter of his regular size. The Jarl hauled himself higher in bed, snarling when the balding man leapt in to assist.

“Heard about you,” said the bald man, grinning at everybody. He stood and grasped wrists with Thaegoth. “Hrongar,” he called himself. “Balgruuf’s brother.” He sat down and gestured at the balding man. “This here’s Proventus, our essential steward. And you’ve already been charmed by Irileth.”

“Enough,” said Balgruuf. His voice still carried considerable weight to it, Thaegoth noticed. His advanced age and the death of his eldest son might have sent him to his bed, but there was no doubt that this was the ruler of Whiterun. His eyes dug into Thaegoth’s brain and the wood elf found himself sweating.

The Jarl coughed, snatching a handkerchief from Proventus. He spoke as if he was seated on his throne, every word a command. “Anybody tells you there can only be Nords in the Companions, send them to me.”

Thaegoth was halfway through a small bow when Balgruuf interrupted him.

“None of that,” he said. “I don’t tell the Companions what to do.” Thaegoth kept back a smirk at the contradiction this revealed as Balgruuf continued. “Relationship exists on respect. We both work for Whiterun. This place needs you—more of you.”

“Please, my lord,” said Proventus, “do not over-exert yourself.”

“I’ll take the measure of what is over-exertion,” said Balgruuf, his final words dripping with venom.

“Of course, my lord,” said Proventus. Hrongar laughed nastily. Proventus turned his gaze on Thaegoth. “Perhaps you would consider visiting the arena in Windhelm for new candidates?”

Hrongar scoffed. “Might as well ride into a bandit camp and start handing out invitations,” he said.

“Place is a sty,” said Balgruuf. “Criminals fighting for freedom and brawlers who live on the roar of the crowd. But I’ve found good warriors in worse places. Eh, Irileth?”

Thaegoth thought he detected the edges of a smile on the housecarl’s face as she nodded. “They fight for a living,” she said. “Not many can say that.”

“Certainly not our guards,” growled Balgruuf.

“I was thinking, my lord,” said Thaegoth, seizing the moment, “that perhaps a guardpost could be established in Valtheim Towers.”

Proventus and Hrongar both started talking at once. Balgruuf cut over them again. “Been out there already, I see,” he said. Thaegoth nodded. “Huh. Good. Bandits’ll be back, though.”

“They always are,” said Hrongar.

“It’s a good idea,” said Balgruuf. “But . . .” He suddenly seemed to lose energy. “Proventus can tell you why not.”

“Numbers at the western and northern watchtowers are already stretched,” said the steward, sniffing. “Most of the guard is occupied dealing with the Thieves Guild—”

“Dealing,” said Irileth, with deadly emphasis. Hrongar gave another bitter laugh. Proventus sent them dagger looks.

“I am assured by Commander Caius himself,” said Proventus, “that he is rooting out the corruption within the ranks of the guard.”

“Hard to do that when you’re corrupted yourself,” said Hrongar.

“That is—” began Proventus.

“Try not to accuse the commander of my guard without evidence,” said Balgruuf. Hrongar mumbled something and leaned back in his chair. The Jarl looked at Thaegoth again. “The Companions say they keep out of politics. But if you require aid, I will give it. Whiterun needs you now more than ever.”

Thaegoth wondered why the Companions had imposed a no-politics rule. He supposed it would have allowed them to sit out the civil war, if nothing else. But to live, certainly to operate a mercenary outfit, was to exist in a political dimension. In his old life he had never shied away from exercising his political beliefs through his actions and he saw no reason to change that now. Even if everything else had been left behind.

“You have my thanks,” he said.

Balgruuf waved a hand. “I don’t need them,” he said. “Instead, build the Companions.”

“Rebuild,” said Irileth, though it didn’t seem like Balgruuf was listening. Thaegoth cleared his throat and Proventus looked at him like he was a madman.

“Jarl Balgruuf,” said Thaegoth. “You have my condolences for your son’s death.”

Everybody in the room watched Balgruuf cautiously. Eventually, he said, “Trapped here with what my offspring have left me. Frothar dead, Dagny gone—”

“I have sent yet another letter,” said Proventus.

“—and Nelkir . . .” Here Balgruuf’s face screwed up in distaste. He sunk deeper into his bedclothes before starting and looking at Thaegoth. “Thank you,” he said. His eyelids wavered and Irileth moved into Thaegoth’s line of sight. He took this as a dismissal. He nodded to Hrongar and Proventus—though only the former returned it—and exited the room.

Heading back down to the main hall, he found himself accompanied by Irileth again. Although he did not expect her to suddenly become talkative, he didn’t feel like this was something he could ask Sonja—especially after Thorald had warned him away from reforming the Companions. But now Thaegoth had an order from the Jarl.

“How does one get to Windhelm?” he asked.

Irileth made a noise that could have been approval. “Keeping going east past Valtheim,” she said. "Take a carriage. It’s easier. Quicker.”

“Thank you,” said Thaegoth, when they reached the main hall. He again found his eyes drawn towards the ceiling. When he looked down, Irileth was halfway back up the stairs. Fair enough, he thought. As he crossed past the firepit, smiling at the servant stoking it, he briefly, casually flicked his eyes to his left, and saw into what appeared to be a mage’s laboratory. Complete with alchemy lab and enchanter’s table, along with full bookshelves and a workbench piled with scrolls.

However, instead of a robed mage, Thaegoth met eyes with a black-haired youth, his age perhaps pushing at the limits of adolescence, his frame even wirier than Thaegoth’s own. The youth was rummaging through the scrolls with furious yet quiet purpose and he grinned at Thaegoth before returning to the task.

“Who is that?” Thaegoth asked in a murmur to the nearby servant.

The servant looked and a visible shiver went through their frame. “Nelkir,” they said. “Jarl’s third son. May the Nine help us if he ends up on the throne.”

Thaegoth watched the youth who had drawn such reactions from all who had mentioned him, then shook his head and headed for the great doors, back into Whiterun. He had his orders, after all.


	9. Harbinger

That same evening, after Thaegoth had returned and retired to his room in an attempt to get it in something resembling order, Sonja knocked again at Aela’s door. There was a grunt from within that had a little more of an edge to it than usual. Sonja equally hoped for and dreaded an actual conversation with the Harbinger.

She found Aela sitting on the edge of the bed, running a hand through her unwashed red hair. Some of the usual bleariness in her eyes had cleared, though they were still heavily bloodshot and the smell of alcohol and filth in the room was strong.

“Someone’s in Vilkas’ room,” said Aela. “You been recruiting.”

Sonja swallowed. “His name’s Thaegoth,” she said. “He’s a wood elf, sure, but—”

Aela twisted her face into active disinterest. “Don’t care about that,” she said. “Can he fight?”

Sonja remembered his darting in to back her up at Valtheim Towers, his thrown dagger up the stairs, his brash ignoring of her commands. “Yes,” she had to say. “Not his first calling, I think, but he can fight.”

“Don’t care about first callings,” said Aela. “Past gets erased when you walk in here.”

Sonja wasn’t so sure, but wasn’t about to object out loud. She still felt her upbringing in Markarth walking alongside every step she took. Thaegoth, she felt, had a similar, perhaps more immediate companion to his steps.

“He’s got a problem taking orders,” said Sonja.

Aela made a dry hacking sound that could have been a laugh. “So do you,” she said. “This ain’t really that sort of outfit anyway.”

“No respect, is what I meant,” said Sonja. “For us who’ve been here longer than him.”

Aela sighed. “Yeah,” she said. “We can work on that. You ain’t exactly been here long yourself.” She looked at the floor and her hands. “Promoted to second-eldest by default.”

There was a long silence. Sonja occupied it by looking at her own hands and going over in her mind how Thaegoth had handled himself at Valtheim, and at the farm. He had seemed perfectly willing to fight her if she’d been at fault in regards to the thieves. A personal code then, though she had no insight into its workings, though it was strong enough to make him fight someone who could probably take him down.

“He met Thorald?” asked Aela.

“Have you?” asked Sonja, suddenly petty. The months that Aela had spent locked away in her drunken haze had not been kind to anyone.

Aela frowned and opened her mouth like she was going to protest. “Fair,” she said. She shook her head and winced at the movement. Curling her hands around the edge of the bed, she eased herself up. Sonja stepped in with a hand extended. “Don’t you fucking dare,” said Aela. “Let’s go pay him a visit.”

“Who?” asked Sonja, when Aela was upright.

“Thorald,” said Aela, waving a hand in the vague direction of the Skyforge. “The new meat can wait.”

The two were silent as they walked through the living quarters, though Sonja strained her ears to hear any sound coming from Thaegoth’s room. Scraping and thumping reached her, along with a soft curse. Aela, if she heard it, made no visible reaction. Once out the back doors and out from under the porch, the Harbinger stopped and leant on one of the columns, looking up at the gathering night. She sighed and her movements were heavy.

“I caught those thieves,” said Sonja.

“Oh? Good,” murmured Aela, though Sonja wasn’t sure Aela remembered being told about it before. Slowly they headed up to the Skyforge, where smoke still rose as Thorald worked on. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing a mess of blotchy red scars. He slowed at the Companions’ arrival, wiping sweat off his forehead and leaning against his workbench.

“Evening, Huntress,” said Thorald. “Good to see you up and about.”

“Wanted to hear your opinion on the new meat,” said Aela, blinking hard.

Thorald wiped his hands on a rag before answering. “Seems true enough,” he said. “I talked to him this morning—told him how things stood.” He smiled quickly at Sonja for reasons she couldn’t guess at.

“He’s not from Skyrim?” asked Aela, looking at Sonja, who shook her head.

“Cyrodiil, he said,” said Thorald. He rubbed at his chin, leaving a sooty stain behind. “Can’t speak to his fighting skills. But I reckon he’s the best thing to happen to this place since… in a long time.”

Aela grunted. “We’ll see,” she said.

“You want to see him?” asked Sonja. Aela, at least, she could predict. But she couldn’t tell how Thaegoth would react to actually meeting their Harbinger. But Aela shook her head.

“Gotta pay some social calls,” she said. “And you’re coming along.”

“What?” said Sonja, ignoring Thorald’s grin. “Calling on who?”

“Anyone who’s anyone,” said Aela. “Dragonsreach being the first stop.”

“Thought we were supposed to keep out of politics,” grumbled Sonja as they headed for the stairs. She shot a wave at Thorald and he kept grinning at her.

“And you believed that?” asked Aela. “Look, running a mercenary group in this town means you gotta keep a certain amount of people on your side. Otherwise life gets hard real fast—guards are stonewalling you, Jarl’s making life difficult, nobody’s selling food to you. Gotta keep things smooth.”

“Fine,” says Sonja. “But why do I have to come along?”

Aela paused for a moment. “Because I won’t be Harbinger forever,” she said quietly. “You need to know who these people are. They need to know who you are.”

“I’m not—I can’t talk to . . . anyone,” said Sonja. She much preferred acting to speaking. Already, just with the prospect of what was to come, she was already feeling a shiver coming down her back, the beginnings of a cold sweat.

“Neither did I,” said Aela, “at the beginning.” She grimaced. “Got thrown into it when Gyl—the Dragonborn—resigned. Stumbled through for the longest time. Felt like it. But that’s why you gotta learn now.”

They were heading through Whiterun now, already up the steps towards Dragonsreach. A guard passed them carrying a torch, and they nodded respectfully to Aela. She returned it without breaking her stride. Sonja wished she’d thought of a way to suggest that Aela freshen up before heading up to see the Jarl. Though the guard at the door let them in without hesitation, opening one of those huge doors into the great hall.

At one of the benches they found Irileth speaking quietly to another Dunmer that Sonja recognized as Brelyna Maryon, the court mage who had taken over after Farengar’s death about two years earlier. Upon seeing them, the housecarl murmured something and Brelyna drifted back into her laboratory. Irileth crossed the distance towards them quickly and grasped Aela’s wrist, smiling wide.

“Been too long,” said Irileth.

“That it has,” said Aela—perhaps going a little red, Sonja thought. Irileth nodded at Sonja and planted her hands on her hips.

“You want to see Balgruuf,” she said. “Your little recruit’s already been up there.”

Aela glared at Sonja like this was something she should’ve been told. Sonja thought she was keeping up a good pretence but Irileth just smirked and said, “He didn’t tell either of you. Trouble in Jorrvaskr?”

“Least it’s different trouble,” said Aela.

Irileth made a noise of agreement and lead them up the stairs through to Balgruuf’s room. Sonja had not seen the Jarl since Frothar’s funeral service—which she had attended in Aela’s stead, it being so soon after the massacre—and she was surprised to see how fragile the man had become. Though he hauled himself upright as Irileth announced them and his gaze caused Sonja to quail like she was a child. She searched Aela for a similar reaction and didn’t find it. Nobody else was in the room, though Sonja caught Irileth checking the corners.

“I look forward to the day,” said Balgruuf, “when it takes much longer to see every Companion.” Aela had folded her hands behind her back and Sonja quickly did the same. “Harbinger,” continued the Jarl, “it is gratifying to see you upright.”

Aela didn’t flinch from Balgruuf’s gaze. “Won’t happen again,” she said. “We all have a job to do.”

If Balgruuf caught the rebuke in her tone, he showed nothing but a slight smile. “Your newest seems able,” he said. “Valtheim Towers already cleared”—Aela sent Sonja another glare—“and committed to more. I say it again: you require aid, come to me before anyone else.”

Aela inclined her head. “I feel I must apologise,” she said, “for missing your son’s funeral.”

Balgruuf’s look got distant. “You had your own grief,” he said. He waved a hand at Sonja. “Besides, the Companions were well-represented.” Sonja stood taller and restrained a smile.

“We hope to see you back in your throne soon,” said Aela.

Balgruuf didn’t answer. After a long silence, he shook his head. “Frothar dead, Dagny not answering my letters . . . what will become of this city?”

“I’m sure you’ll still reign for a long time,” said Sonja. Balgruuf’s eyes fixed on her for the first time.

“You are alone in that,” he said.

Aela coughed. “What of Nelkir?” she asked.

Balgruuf didn’t answer. He picked at a loose thread on his blankets and said, “I expect to hear of your victories.”

Aela inclined her head and left the room. Sonja did a short bow and hurried after her. Aela was lingering in the corridor, looking back in at Irileth. The housecarl shook her head and Aela moved on. Once they were outside, halfway down the stairs, Aela paused and turned to Sonja.

“You’ll be Harbinger,” she said. Sonja opened her mouth to protest but Aela held out a hand not too far away from a fist. “Not now, but some day when I can’t take it anymore. Learn how to make friends. Right now I’d rather dig a tunnel through mammoth shit than visit the Gray-Manes and Battle-Borns—but tomorrow I’ll be there, smiling. And so will you.”

“I’ll . . . I’ll try,” said Sonja.

“You’ll do more than that,” said Aela in a low voice.

Neither of them said anything further as they walked towards Jorrvaskr. By the smoke and the clanging, Thorald was still up at the Skyforge. After Aela entered the hall, Sonja paused and examined the wood near the door. Just as Thaegoth had said, there was a small mark scratched into the surface, just visible in its pale indents. A triangle facing down, its lowest point breaking into the centre of a small circle, and a line reaching down the middle of the triangle. She couldn’t understand how she hadn’t noticed it before. She had passed that way so many times—how much of the rest of Skyrim was scarred with such marks?

“You coming or not?” asked Aela from inside.

Sonja straightened, went inside, and closed the door after her. Thaegoth and she would need to have some words with each other.


	10. The Arena

In the morning, Thaegoth ran into Sonja in the hall of the living quarters. She spoke over his greeting and got straight to the business at hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d spoken to the Jarl?” she asked.

Thaegoth had not expected to be found out quite so quickly, but he recovered well, and opened his mouth to ask how Sonja had found out. However, she anticipated him there as well.

“Aela and me went to see him,” she said.

“Oh,” said Thaegoth, surprised on a new tack now. “She’s... ?”

Sonja looked towards the Harbinger’s door, closed once more. She frowned, unwilling to involve Thaegoth so much when he still hadn’t met Aela. “I don’t know,” she said. She frowned at the distraction and turned her best hard glare back on Thaegoth.

“He said something about politics—about us not getting involved,” he said. “I thought you might disapprove.”

Sonja had hoped for some seditious motive, a conspiracy to keep things hidden from her, a clue at Thaegoth’s criminal past. Instead . . . she softened her glare. “That’s what I was told,” she said. She looked at Aela’s door again. “Seems not to be true.”

Thaegoth cleared his throat and prepared to say what he’d wanted to say after his original greeting. “I thought I’d head over to Windhelm, look for recruits in the arena.”

Sonja’s glare came back. “You’ve been here barely enough time to catch your breath,” she said, “and you want to go running off to fucking Eastmarch? How do I even know you’ll come back?”

Thaegoth found his words were coming as quickly as hers. “You talked about being in this for good,” he said. “This isn’t for me, it’s for the Companions.”

“You don’t get to use us as an excuse, not now,” snarled Sonja.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Thaegoth, “were we going to be threatening more chicken thieves with execution today, or did you have something else planned?”

Sonja took a step forward and levelled a finger at him. “Don’t you—”

“Don’t what?” cut in Thaegoth. “You’re a good fighter, Sonja, probably better than I’ll ever be. But this isn’t a job for two—”

“There are three of us,” said Sonja through her teeth.

“Are there?” asked Thaegoth. “Far as I know, you might have made up this Aela to scare off trouble. It’s a fine idea, but it’s reached its end.” He strode towards the Harbinger’s door, suddenly intent on wrenching it open. However, before he could reach for the handle, it swung inwards to reveal the Huntress herself. Her eyes were still bloodshot but there was no swaying to her movements, no sense that she might topple into insensibility at any moment.

Both of the other Companions froze. Aela looked right at Thaegoth and said, “If you take the carriage now, you should make it before the next big bout starts.”

“You’re gonna—” started Sonja.

“I am,” said Aela. “Else this place will just get dustier. That what you want?”

Sonja didn’t answer—they all knew her response anyway. She looked at the floor for a moment and said, “We don’t even know if he’ll come back.”

Aela shrugged and said, “Then he shouldn’t have told us where he was going.” She shot Thaegoth a look that told him there would be no safe place for him in Skyrim or beyond if he did decide to skip out on them. Presumably, he thought, she had earned her title of the Huntress.

Aela flicked her head towards the door. “Go,” she said. She turned to Sonja. “And tell Thorald to make him a sword that doesn’t scream ‘I’m an elf’.”

* * *

 

On the carriage eastwards, Thaegoth examined the elven blade he had carried for perhaps a week now. Stolen out of a footlocker in an inn halfway back through Cyrodiil, he had no attachment to it, though there was an argument to be made for wielding it. Why should he hide his foreign nature to appease the Nords? Surely it was they who had to alter their ways, they who needed to dispense with their prejudices. He made up his mind then to have a quiet word with Thorald at the Skyforge. He could do with a better weapon, certainly, but there was no need for it not to reflect his ancestry.

After an uneventful journey, the carriage dropped him in front of what was presumably Windhelm—he took it for granted that the driver hadn’t driven him to some other city out of silent maliciousness. The sun had vanished behind clouds somewhere on the route and though there was no snow—it still being the height of Skyrim’s summer—there was a chill wind in the air that made Thaegoth wish he had invested in some furs before his hasty departure.

He trod quickly across the wide stone bridge that led to the city. The doors were opened for him, but the guard there hesitated for a moment, looking Thaegoth up and down. Once he was inside, another guard roughly bumped past him, cracking an armoured shoulder against his own leather-clad one. He frowned at the guard’s retreating back and wondered if they would treat him so if they knew he was one of the Companions. He rubbed at the forming bruise and turned again as a voice came from nearby.

“First time in Windhelm, friend?” it asked. Thaegoth met the gaze of the speaker: a stout Argonian in worn clothes but with a smile on his face.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” said Thaegoth, looking again after the guard, knowing it would accomplish nothing to create a fuss.

The Argonian shook his head. “I have not stopped wishing that we could all get along better,” he said. He extended a hand and Thaegoth shook it, feeling the potential for strength in the grip. “Scouts-Many-Marshes,” said the Argonian. “Just call me Scouts.”

“Is that your real name?” asked Thaegoth, who knew a little of Argonian naming practices.

Scouts shrugged. “It’s my name here,” he said. He gestured in the direction of a brazier nearby. “You heading to the pit? Most visitors are.”

“Yes,” said Thaegoth, withholding his purpose for the moment.

“I was heading down myself, if you don’t mind… ?” asked Scouts.

“Not at all,” said Thaegoth. “Lead on. I’m quite lost in Skyrim, I admit. I am Thaegoth, by the way.”

Scouts led Thaegoth around the brazier to a gap in the grey stone, a square black hole that descended down who knew how far. Thaegoth leaned over the wooden railing that surrounded three sides, noticing the gate on the fourth.

“The arena is... beneath Windhelm?” he asked.

“Only place for it,” said Scouts. “Lift just took a group down, should be up in a moment. We call it the pit, round here,” he added.

As if summoned by those words, the winch hanging over the hole began to turn and there was a scraping sound that gradually grew louder. Soon enough a wooden platform filled the hole, a ragged Nord man working the lever. He moved over and opened the gate and Scouts moved quickly to enter. Thaegoth followed.

“Could I give you some advice?” asked Scouts, once the lift began to descend and Windhelm vanished out of sight above them. Thaegoth gestured assent, though he wondered if they would descend into darkness. In truth, the above world was only out of sight for a moment before the lift clunked to a halt and a short stone corridor lit by torches appeared before them. Scouts leaned closed to Thaegoth as they stepped off the lift and murmured, “Don’t bet.”

“Why not?” asked Thaegoth, though he had no intention of doing so.

“Easy to get sucked in,” said Scouts, with a tone that spoke volumes.

The arena was indeed revealed to be closer to a pit. A low-ceilinged place—at least for the spectators. Their space was the edges of a square with a wooden railing, looking down a two metre drop of sheer stone to a piece of dirt that sported numerous streaks and patches of dried blood. Perhaps two dozen people were gathered around the railings, watching the single door cut into the wall below. Scouts and Thaegoth found a place to lean on the railing and waited for the first bout to begin.

“Is it true prisoners fight for their freedom?” asked Thaegoth.

Scouts smiled. “True enough,” he said. “Though it’s not often they make it past the regulars. If you’ve just been caught for stealing some bread, how do you think you’ll fare against them who fight for a living?” His smile faded. “Though there’s a bandit on today, or so I hear. Should be interesting.”

“How often are there fights?” asked Thaegoth.

“Today’ll just be three or four—mostly regulars,” said Scouts. “Happens once a week, though you can watch them spar more often. Big tournament first day of every month. Get people from all over for those.”

“Anybody… particularly formidable?” asked Thaegoth. An obvious question, he supposed, but he was unable to think of a better way to phrase it that disguised his interests. He’d admit the environment didn’t seem a fertile field of recruits so far—but he was in no place to judge.

Scouts’ eyes widened and he was silent for a moment. “There was someone a few months back—took down everyone like they were just... just reeds in the wind. Didn’t kill anyone though.”

“Who were they?” asked Thaegoth with quick interest. The Companions was a place for such figures, if the stories he’d heard so far were anything to go by.

But Scouts shook his head. “Never took their helmet off,” he said. “Full ebony armour! Just complained about the lack of real opponents—sounded like a Hammerfell accent to me, though. Shahvee said she saw them getting on the boat to Solstheim later on.”

Thaegoth grunted. He was happy to trek across Skyrim for candidates, but Solstheim was pushing it. Still, he wondered what sort of real opponent this warrior in ebony would find on the island, and said so to Scouts.

“You really are lost in Skyrim, huh?” said the Argonian. “Solstheim’s where the Dragonborn went.” He frowned briefly. “Not that anybody’s brought back a story in a while. Still, it’d take more than that warrior to put a dent in her.”

“So I hear,” said Thaegoth, marvelling again at the esteem in which the Dragonborn was held. And she had been a member of the Companions! The things they could do with such a warrior, he thought. And how they could use her now. Thaegoth shook his head of such thoughts—he lived in a world without legends, and would have to make do with reality. With Sonja, he thought, catching himself smiling.

It vanished as a Nord man walked out into the pit, dressed in hide armour. Scouts leaned close to Thaegoth and murmured, “That’s Benkum. He manages the place, though sometimes you can see him sparring with the others.”

This Benkum threw his arms wide and spun in place, looking up at the audience. “Welcome to the arena!” he announced. There were some ragged cheers from above him. “Three fights for you today—each sure to be a nailbiter! First up we have our very own Liesl against a savage orc, cast out from her stronghold—she’s been amongst us before, I’m sure you’ll give her a warm welcome: Borgakh Steel-Heart!”

Scouts was among those clapping. He grinned at Thaegoth. “Borgakh works as a guard up in Winterhold, really,” he said. “She comes down here to make some extra coin.”

“You sound like you know her,” asked Thaegoth.

“She comes by the Cornerclub after, most times,” said Scouts. He looked away. “I’ve never really spoken to her.”

Thaegoth noticed a weasely-looking man making the rounds around the audience, swiftly taking bets, depositing coins and promise-notes into a complicated array of pockets. When he reached them, Thaegoth shook his head and the man moved on, Scouts looking relieved.

The two combatants entered the arena side-by-side, to Thaegoth’s surprise. Liesl was a Nord woman with a thin plume of red hair, dressed in hide armour. She carried an iron battleaxe loosely in both hands and there was a streak of dark paint across her eyes. Borgakh had the same pitch-black hair as every orc Thaegoth had met, cropped short. She was dressed in the armour of her people and wielded a matching sword but a steel shield.

Two people who already had jobs, thought Thaegoth. He wondered how content they were with those positions, to be battering away at each other for profit and glory—or patrolling the snowswept coast of Winterhold, in Borgakh’s case. Benkum had stepped back from the pair, who now faced each other across the pit.

“Begin!” called Benkum.

“Who would you back?” asked Thaegoth, finding himself strangely drawn to the combatants as they began to circle each other.

Scouts didn’t take his eyes off the pit. “There won’t be any death,” he said. “But... Borgakh’s the better fighter, though it’ll take a while for Liesl to admit it.”

“I’ll crack you like an egg!” Liesl called suddenly. Borgakh said nothing in response, though something twitched across her mouth.

Scouts was right—although Borgakh was indeed the better fighter, it took many batterings for Liesl to admit it. Her battleaxe clattered off Borgakh’s shield repeatedly and left a few dents in her foe’s armour, but inflicted no real damage. Borgakh, however, left Liesl with half a dozen cuts. None of them deep, noticed Thaegoth with appreciation, but serious enough that Liesl would probably miss next week’s fights. Before that could extend to the next two weeks, Liesl called submission. There were some jeers from the audience, mostly drowned out by cheers for Borgakh.

Thaegoth found himself clapping along with everybody else. There was a balance here, he thought, between not disgracing oneself in the fight, and keeping upright enough to fight again another day. Borgakh exited the pit, followed by Liesl, hiding a limp. Thaegoth watched the bookmaker dish out the returns to the audience and saw the disappointment and anger on the faces of those who had made a loss.

“Nothing like some blood in the dirt!” Benkum was exclaiming. “Next up we have our old favourite, Edorfin”—here there was a smattering of laughter from the crowd—“taking on a surprise fighter: Huki Seven-Swords!”

There were shocked mutterings from the crowd. Thaegoth turned to ask Scouts the meaning of this, but the Argonian was already explaining. “Huki helps run the place,” he said, “she doesn’t usually fight. Edorfin usually fights Brond—they have a feud. They must be keeping him back for the bandit.” He shook his head. “I don’t favour their chances against him.”

“A feud?” asked Thaegoth. He wasn’t feeling particularly hopeful so far, though he hated to return to Jorrvaskr empty-handed. He watched Edorfin and Huki enter the pit and was surprised to see the former was a fellow wood elf, dressed in hide armour with a steel longsword. Huki looked competent enough, despite what Scouts had said about her. Her studded armour was cleaner than her foe’s, but her iron greatsword had clearly seen use.

Scouts made a non-committal gesture. “Edorfin and Brond act like they have a feud,” he said. “Whether it’s for real… nobody can agree.”

An issue of performance, wagered Thaegoth. Like Liesl’s warpaint, or the spin of Borgakh being a stronghold outcast. An edge to the contest, something to give the audience a story to cling to.

Edorfin and Huki proved evenly matched, much to the interest of the audience. Even Thaegoth found himself leaning across the railing. Edorfin offered a quip now and then—“My kid cousin has a puppy can hit harder than that”—most of which made the audience boo him, though Huki remained silent.

Eventually, Huki got Edorfin on his back and pressed the edge of her greatsword against his throat. Half the breaths of the audience stopped, and Thaegoth thought Edorfin’s was sure to as well. A thin line of blood appeared under the blade and Edorfin mouthed the word “Submit”. Huki removed her sword and strode from the arena under heavy cheers. Edorfin, with hollow eyes, dodged a thrown tomato and hurried after her.

“That was just a taste!” Benkum assured them. “For our final bout we have a real treat for you! Our resident champion, Brond”—here there were cheers—“taking on a bandit, a bandit who needed a dozen guards to restrain her! In a fight… to the death!”

“A dozen guards?” murmured Thaegoth. Scouts made an apologetic look. Still, it sounded promising, provided this bandit could survive the pit’s alleged champion.

“Won’t be a lot of bets on her,” said Scouts. For the bandit was indeed female, a Nord dressed in ragged furs and wielding an iron mace. Her ragged brown hair fell around her face and there was dried blood at the left edge of her mouth. Brond was immense, a towering Nord man with a long blonde beard, dressed in hide and wielding an iron greatsword almost as big as he was. Impractically, it seemed already stained with blood. Thaegoth suspected tomato juice.

As the two fighters closed in on each other, Brond spoke. “There are good pit fighters and dead pit fighters,” he said. “I been here for years—what do you think that makes me?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” said the bandit woman, in a voice barely above a growl.

Brond grinned and came at her with a high swing. She ducked it easily, pivoting to avoid the follow-up strike. She snuck a blow at Brond’s knee, sending him limping away.

“Lucky,” he said, gesturing with his greatsword. “But I got reach on you.”

The bandit shrugged. “And once I’m past it?” she asked.

Brond grinned. “No difference,” he said. “Steel or barehanded, it’s all fighting. I can kill you whichever way you like.”

“We’ll see,” said the bandit.

She came at him and dodged a downward strike, planting one foot on the tip of the blade and swinging a crunching mace-blow at Brond’s hands. He saw it coming and dropped his sword, jumping away. The weapon dropped to the dirt and the bandit kicked it to her right against the stone wall.

She swung her mace at Brond’s head and he caught its shaft in his gloved hands. The combatants pressed against each other with all their might and the crowd seemed to collectively lean closer. Thaegoth swore he saw the bandit smile. Sweat was breaking out across both of the fighter’s brows. The bandit suddenly let go her grip and jumped right.

Brond went sprawling on his hands and knees, still clutching the mace. As he was rising, a grin on his face at holding his foe’s weapon, he felt his own sword hack into his back.

“You’re strong,” said the bandit. “But you’re a fucking idiot.”

Brond went down onto his face and the bandit hacked again. The crowd had gone silent and Benkum looked like he really wanted to interfere but didn’t want to go within range of that sword. Two hacks later, Brond stopped kicking. The bandit, her forearms splattered with blood though there was not a scratch on her, looked over at Benkum.

“I’m free now, right?” she asked. “Or is there someone else you’d like me to kill?” Benkum was looking rather frantically at the bookmaker, gesturing something. “Hey!” said the bandit. Benkum flinched.

“You’re free,” he admitted. His voice dropped lower and Thaegoth strained to hear him say, “But you won’t make it out of Eastmarch alive.”

The bandit spat in his direction. She dropped Brond’s greatsword and retrieved her mace, then walked out of the pit. Thaegoth flinched himself as Scouts nudged him in the side.

“Best get out of here,” said the Argonian. “People who’ve just lost money aren’t fun to be around.”

The pair headed for the lift and were in the first load back up into Windhelm. Thaegoth felt himself able to breathe easier back on the surface, though he hadn’t noticed the opposite below. Still, there was something oppressing about the city’s walls—maybe it was the height, or the colour of the stone.

“Where does that door in the pit come out?” Thaegoth asked. He’d made his decision about who to recruit—there could be no other, not after what he’d seen below.

“Guard barracks, I think,” said Scouts.

Thaegoth nodded. “I have to get back to Whiterun,” he said, the half-lie coming easy to his lips. “Boss won’t like me being away even this long.”

Scouts smiled. “Been there,” he said. He extended a hand and they shook again. “If you’re ever in these parts again, come by the Cornerclub for a drink. Friendliest place in town.”

“I’ll do that,” said Thaegoth, and he was surprised to find that he meant it.

Scouts headed down some stairs to their right, but Thaegoth waited near the doors for a time, to see if the bandit would appear heading for the exit. However, she did not, and the nearby guard grew frustrated.

“If you’re going, go,” they said, and Thaegoth, wishing to avoid confrontation, went. He found a new waiting spot at the other end of the bridge and so had a great deal of warning when the bandit exited the doors. However, as she reached him, he cursed himself for not using the time to prepare something to say.

“I’m Thaegoth,” he said.

“Good for you,” said the bandit, glaring at him. She headed past the stables towards the east and he fell into step with her.

“I saw you fighting in the… the pit. I was wondering what you were going to do with your freedom,” he said.

The bandit suddenly stopped. There was a silence while something worked its way across her way. “Haven’t a clue,” she said.

“I represent the Companions,” said Thaegoth. The bandit stared at him like he’d said he’d been born in the Shivering Isles, so he quickly added, “I’d like to ask you to join our ranks.”

“You fucking with me?” asked the bandit. “You know I’m a bandit.”

“What’s your name?” Thaegoth asked.

“Nebia,” she said. “Nebia Furotis.”

“Nebia,” said Thaegoth. He prepared to say what he hoped was true. “In the Companions we don’t care about your past—anyone’s past. If you can fight—and I’ve seen you can—then you can fight for what’s right. With us, there is hope for a brighter future.”

Nebia was still looking at him with scepticism. “I’m the exact sort you people usually get right to cutting up,” she said.

“Well,” said Thaegoth, looking at his boots. Thinking of something, he met her eyes again. “What were you arrested for?”

Nebia snorted. “Got sick of my fellow criminals,” she said. “Went to turn them in, got arrested instead.”

“Were you turning them in for the bounty, or because you wished to see the law upheld on them?” asked Thaegoth.

Nebia stared at him for a while before saying, “Both.”

Thaegoth had to grin at that. “Good enough,” he said. “Better than me, really,” he added without thinking. He extended a hand towards Nebia, noting her raised eyebrows at his last statement. “So are you in?”

Nebia scratched at her chin, seemingly unaware of the faint bloodstains still occupying her hands. “Ah, fuck it,” she said. She grasped Thaegoth’s wrist. “Yeah, let’s give the righteous life a shot.”


	11. Origins

In front of the Harbinger, Nebia told the reasons for her arrest again. Thaegoth had done his best to spin her victory in the pit as formidable, the rest was down to Aela. Who scratched at her scalp, then looked at Thaegoth.

“Head up to the forge,” she said. “Thorald’s working on a new blade for you.”

Thaegoth gave Nebia what he hoped was a positive look, then exited the hall of Jorrvaskr out the front doors. Left without support, Nebia shuffled her feet, then frowned at something and folded her arms. Sonja, standing behind Aela’s chair, watched her from under a furrowed brow. The bandit—ex-bandit, Sonja conceded—looked like she hadn’t seen a wash in some months. Her eyes were fixed solidly on Aela as the Harbinger sat in silence, no doubt weighing up the positives and negatives just as Sonja was.

Aela eased herself upright. “Thaegoth and I got a fugitive to catch,” she said. It was true there was one at large—the job had come in while Thaegoth had been away—but Sonja had assumed that she and Aela would get to tackle it together.

“So?” asked Nebia, almost spitting.

Aela waved a hand at Sonja. “I’m leaving the decision in the hands of my deputy here. I got to get my armour on.”

Sonja tried to do a quick calculation at how many months had passed since Aela had donned her armour. Too many. And Sonja would miss the occasion. She turned back to Nebia. Her skin suddenly prickling with cold, as the prospective recruit moved her gaze to her. Aela vanished downstairs before Sonja could demand some explanation. Another exercise to prepare her for leadership, of course. Not that that knowledge made it any easier to deal with.

Sonja stood trying to look and not look at Nebia. Was there a way to be objective here? She remembered Thaegoth’s talk of rehabilitation, of the cycle of crime. And here was a criminal fallen into their lap, wishing for reformation. A criminal who had won the freedom to have her past crimes erased, she noted. Won through blood and sweat.

“You understand what we do here?” asked Sonja.

Nebia snorted. “The elf sung your praises all the way here,” she said. “I was on the verge of throwing him outta the carriage before we made it halfway.”

Sonja felt red embarrassment creep across her cheeks, heightened by Nebia’s laugh. With a sudden burst of anger, Sonja said, “You’re a criminal.”

“Was,” said Nebia, grinning. “Got myself a pardon now.”

“You just fought your way to freedom,” said Sonja.

“And?” asked Nebia. “I won, didn’t I?”

Sonja suppressed a sneer. Not the sort of expression a prospective leader ought to wear. “If you’d been arrested in any other hold, you still be rotting in jail,” she said.

“But I wasn’t,” shrugged Nebia. “So here we are.”

“In Whiterun, we respect the law,” said Sonja.

“Same as Windhelm,” said Nebia. “Just a different law. How’s fighting for your freedom any different to paying for it? I ain’t got any gold—least over there I had a chance.” She grinned suddenly. “A fighting chance.”

“That place don’t know what the law is,” said Sonja.

“What, you mean cause of the rebellion?” asked Nebia. When Sonja nodded firmly, she added, “And I suppose you hail from some pinnacle of lawfulness?”

“Markarth,” said Sonja.

Nebia laughed so hard she had to sit down and was still laughing when Aela re-emerged in full armour—sword on her hip and bow on her back.

“Made a decision?” the Harbinger asked, ignoring Nebia.

“We’re working on it,” said Sonja. Aela grunted and looked for a moment at Nebia, who was still gasping for breath. “Still got to do the test of arms.”

Aela’s eyebrows went up. “You still bother with that?” she asked.

Sonja felt mildly offended. “You did it for me,” she said.

“Only because you asked for it,” said Aela. “Besides, Thaegoth’s seen her fight already.”

Sonja shook her head. Aela headed for the door. “Suppose I did leave it to you,” she said, as she left the hall.

It was a while before Nebia recovered. When she did, she stood, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. The fluid streaks revealed just how caked with dirt her face was. She heaved a few great breaths and looked at Sonja with a smile that seemed genuine.

“How long’s it been since you were there?” Nebia asked.

Sonja thought back over her recent histories. “Couple of years,” she admitted.

“See,” said Nebia, “the Dragonborn mighta killed all the Forsworn”—Sonja’s face hardened at this. She had been just a child when the streets had run red. Popular opinion in Markarth held that the Dragonborn had been in just as deep with the conspiracies as Madanach himself. There was still a death notice on her head within the hold. Nebia spoke on—“that just left a gap for the Thieves Guild to move right on in soon as they had the strength. And lemme tell you, place fits them like a glove.”

Sonja shook her head. She had always been aware of the state of Markarth under the Forsworn conspiracy—her father had been a guard, there was no way to avoid its impact. She dragged her mind away from her past.

“Aren’t you worried we’ll end up fighting your old comrades?” she asked.

Nebia snorted. She seemed fond of the sound. “They would’ve sold me out just the same, if the idea had come into their thick little skulls.”

Sonja let herself sigh. “We’ve all got pasts,” she admitted.

“Aye,” said Nebia. “Even your little elf lover there.”

“He’s not—what do you mean?” asked Sonja. Any further clue to Thaegoth’s past was another crack of light in his armour. With enough, she could shatter her way through to the truth in one punch.

“His past’s as criminal as mine, I’d bet,” said Nebia.

“He did know about the shadowmarks,” mused Sonja.

Nebia’s eyebrows went up. “That’s Guild business.”

“Whatever it was,” said Sonja, finding herself surprisingly unwilling to leap to conclusions, “he left it behind in Cyrodiil.”

“As far as we know,” said Nebia. “Still, you gonna trust him?”

“Only as much as I have to,” said Sonja. She smiled. “Be happy to extend that to you.”

Nebia smiled back. “And I’ll return the favour.” She flicked her head towards the door Aela had vanished through. “What’s this test of arms you talking about?”

“It’s traditional,” said Sonja, remembering her role as dispenser of Companions-related information. All of sudden the image of Thaegoth’s blood on her blade returned to her. “How about we brawl?” she suggested. “Without weapons?”

Nebia’s face lit up and Sonja thought that she might have made a terrible mistake.

“Here?” asked Nebia.

“Sure,” said Sonja. She pushed a few tables and chairs back, clearing a space in front of the cold firepit. She was about to say a few things about limits when Nebia came at her. She grimaced and raised her hands, remembering how she’d done the same to Thaegoth.

Her block availed her little, as Nebia’s strength almost bowled her over. It took all of Sonja’s might to push the bandit back, by which time she’d taken half a dozen blows to her stomach and legs. Grunting through it, Sonja swept Nebia’s legs away in an attempt to pin her, but Nebia landed on her hands and knees and rolled away out of reach.

“Faster than you look,” said Nebia.

“Stronger than you look,” said Sonja.

Nebia came on again. Sonja fell for a feint to her ribs and took a blow to her cheek for her mistake. She lashed out blindly and was rewarded with a thunk and a grunt. By the time she could see again, her foe was in close, preparing for a headbutt. Sonja kneed her hard in the stomach and fell on top of her, driving them both to the ground.

There was nothing but heavy breathing for a moment.

“I think you’ll fit in just fine,” said Sonja, sucking air. She got off Nebia and crouched beside her, extending a hand. Nebia took it, got one knee under herself, and yanked Sonja off-balance. Before Sonja could react, she was pinned under Nebia. An experimental heave with her legs accomplished nothing.

“I think you’re right,” said Nebia, smirking down. She rolled off and extended a hand. Sonja hesitated, before taking it. Both of them heaved upright, grinning at each other. “If you’d made me do that with weapons I don’t think I coulda beat you,” added Nebia.

“Everybody’s got their places for improvement,” said Sonja. “How’s your archery?”

“Shit,” said Nebia.

“Show me that move and I’ll teach you how to get an arrow in someone’s throat,” said Sonja.

“For that, I’ll teach you three-quarters of everything I know,” said Nebia.

“Just three quarters?” asked Sonja.

“Gotta keep something for myself,” replied Nebia.

“Come on,” said Sonja, heading towards the stairs. She felt the rush of the fight still swirling around her head. Life, returned to Jorrvaskr. “Let’s find you a room.”


	12. Huntress

Thaegoth was still at the Skyforge, explaining to Thorald his ideas for an elvish blade forged from Norse steel, when he noticed the blacksmith looking over his shoulder. He turned to see Aela advanced on them, dressed in full armour. There was a blade at her hip and a bow on her back, and her red hair was tied back from her face.

“Come on,” she said. “We’re hunting a fugitive.”

Thaegoth hesitated and Thorald nudged him. Aela was already heading back down the stairs. Thaegoth decided now perhaps might not be the best time to question the hierarchy of the Companions. He caught up with the Harbinger as she was heading into Whiterun.

“Did you accept Nebia?” he asked, after it became clear she wasn’t going to do more than check he was with her.

“Left it to Sonja,” she said, and kept walking.

Thaegoth quelled his panic. Sonja, in charge of—no. He should have more faith in her, he knew. But even considering that, he couldn’t see her suddenly doing an about-face and relenting to allow an ex-bandit into the Companions. The only reason he’d gotten past her was because he hadn’t told her anything about his past, he thought to himself with a wry smile.

“What’s so funny?” asked Aela.

Thaegoth had another burst of panic. “Nothing,” he said quickly. Aela just grunted and it wasn’t until they were outside the city, walking down past the stables, that she spoke again.

“Guards said they wouldn’t mind if this fellow got himself killed in the heat of things.”

“What?” asked Thaegoth. “Are we killing people for the guards now? I didn’t think that’s what the Companions were about.”

Aela didn’t break her stride, guiding them south. “We’re not,” she said. “Just saying we get paid whether we bring him back alive or not.”

“Why are we getting paid?” asked Thaegoth.

“He fled over the border,” said Aela.

“Into Cyrodiil?”

“Into Falkreath. Guards here don’t have power there,” said Aela.

“Jurisdiction,” said Thaegoth.

“Whatever you want to call it. So we go over and bring him back—”

“Or not.”

“Or not. And get paid for it. Clear enough?”

“I suppose,” said Thaegoth, aware he was pushing his luck. By then they were on the same road he and Kara had taken to Valtheim Towers. However, they were taking it in the opposite direction. South, and heading uphill. Despite the incline, Aela kept up her pace and Thaegoth matched it without complaint. The trees rose taller and greener as the road wound up the hill, and Thaegoth heard the noise of the waterfall and the birds as they walked.

“Sonja said you’re quick,” said Aela, startling him out of his nature-watching.

“It’s kept me alive a few times,” he said.

“Hmm. Can you shoot a bow?” she asked.

Thaegoth observed her own bow—clearly used and lovingly maintained through years of ownership. “Yes,” he said. He was no master of the craft, but Aela seemed the sort to appreciate brevity. He caught her looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

“We’ll get you some better armour, too,” she said.

Thaegoth looked down at his faded leathers, his elven sword. Nothing more than what could be called serviceable. “Nothing too heavy,” he said. He wondered at Thorald’s skill with more varied materials.

“Hmm. With you there,” said Aela. “Sonja’d have us all locked in steel if we’d let her.”

Thaegoth wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh, and let the decision stretch on long enough that it would have been inappropriate anyway.

“We got a rule you oughta know about,” the Harbinger continued.

“I thought there were no rules among the Companions,” said Thaegoth with a smirk. If Aela saw his expression, she ignored it.

“Call it a custom then,” she said. “Whatever. Don’t take jobs alone. Pairs, at the least.”

Thaegoth frowned, remembering Sonja pointing her sword at Maeve and Galt back at the farm. “Sonja was on her own when I met her,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Aela. She looked away for a while. “That one’s on me.”

There was a bridge ahead of them, spanning the river, a small town full of thatched roofs ahead of them. The wheel at the mill turned in the river, with what seemed to Thaegoth a pleasant sort of motion. The scent of freshly-cut wood wafted into his nostrils and he found his muscles easing somewhat.

“The fugitive fled here?” he asked. He struggled to comprehend how a criminal could hide in such an idyllic place.

“Nearabouts,” said Aela, adding, “This is Riverwood.”

After crossing the bridge, Aela indicated that Thaegoth should hang back while she had a murmured chat with one of the guards that patrolled the town’s limits. Thaegoth occupied the time gazing about the town. An old woman bid him good day as she moved past and he returned the greeting. Aela was frowning when she returned to him, and indicated they needed to go back across the bridge and head north.

“Says they saw smoke near the hollow tree the other night,” she said.

“Would they be stupid enough to light a fire?” asked Thaegoth. “And would they hang around so close to the town?”

Aela shrugged. “Either way, we’ll find him,” she said.

Moving off the road, staying close to the riverbank, Thaegoth was surprised when Aela paused, taking her eyes off their way forward to face him.

“Sonja said you argued over those… thieves, at the farm,” she said.

Thaegoth straightened. “We did,” he said. “Nothing’s ever going to change here, anywhere, if we keep perpetuating the cycle of violence. The crime just carries on—”

He stopped himself as he noticed Aela chuckling.

“What?” he asked.

“Her impression of you was dead-on,” she said. She jerked her head towards the north, their destination. “You heard what I said about not taking this one alive.”

“I heard,” said Thaegoth. “What did they do?”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Aela. “Job’s the same. What are you going to do?”

“What is this, some other initiation?” he asked.

“No, this is just for me,” she said. “Would you risk our lives to keep his?”

Thaegoth looked at her for a moment, reasonably sure there was only one answer he could possibly give here. “No,” he said. “But if there was a way to take him alive, I’d do it.”

“Huh. He ain’t going to be happy about us showing up, I can tell you that,” said Aela. “So, you’re saying our lives are more important than his?”

Thaegoth frowned. “You know it’s more complicated than that,” he said.

“Is it?” asked Aela. When Thaegoth didn’t answer, on the border of anger, she shrugged and led them a little further on. She pointed ahead of them to an immense fallen tree, its rooted end closer to them. The trunk itself was hollow, a dark gap that would provide easy shelter for anyone passing that way. Providing it wasn’t home to a pack of wolves, Thaegoth thought, trying to return his mind to practical matters—something Aela never seemed to have trouble doing.

“Only one way out,” said Aela, angling her voice lower now. “You sneak round, get on top of the trunk. You can keep quiet, can’t you?”

“Yes,” said Thaegoth, feeling his face go red.

“I’ll flush him out with some arrows, you get the drop on him. Understood?”

Thaegoth nodded. Aela gestured and he went. Keeping low, feeling the soft dirt beneath his boots. Different to sneaking about in the cities of Cyrodiil, but the basic principles were the same. Besides, he’d done plenty of outdoor work in his time. He kept an eye on the hollow’s opening. If the fugitive had seen them, he could only be hoping that the Companions hadn’t seen him.

Thaegoth leapt lightly onto the trunk and positioned himself between some of the huge roots. He kept low so as to make a smaller target in case one of Aela’s arrows went high. He signalled to her but she was already fitting an arrow to her bow with a speed he thought he could never aspire to.

Seemingly without taking a breath, she sent three arrows at various heights into the hollow. Thaegoth wondered if they’d made a mistake, if she was launching projectiles into an empty space. It was then that the fugitive—for it could only be him by his ragged prison-clothes—scarpered out of the hollow.

“Hey!” said Thaegoth, hoping to convince the fugitive to surrender. The Nord man flinched at the sound and turned to see the wood elf above him. He flung a rock that hit Thaegoth full on the shoulder, not far from where Sonja had cut him. He grunted and flung himself from the trunk, tackling the fugitive to the grass.

The rash jump knocked more of Thaegoth’s breath from him than he expected. By the time he was paying attention again, the fugitive had drawn a dagger and was slashing downwards at him. Thaegoth rolled away on reflex and came up drawing his sword. The fugitive grimaced and made to flee.

Both of them, however, had forgotten about Aela. She appeared in the side of Thaegoth’s vision, launching an arrow into the man’s side from barely two metres away. She dropped her bow and drew her sword almost in the same second. As the man staggered, she was drawing the blade across his throat.

He gurgled for a few seconds on the ground before expiring. Aela wiped her blade on his shirt and turned to glare at Thaegoth.

“I told you to get the drop on him,” she said, “not make a fucking announcement.”

Thaegoth opened his mouth to argue, but all of a sudden the impetus went out of him. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Aela grunted. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Just don’t do it next time.”

Thaegoth sheathed his own sword, still free of blood, and pondered what would have happened if the man had thrown his dagger instead of a rock. Probably Aela would have killed the fugitive quicker and yelled at Thaegoth louder. This new way of fighting—that is, fighting together—was going to take him some time to get used to.

They returned to Whiterun quickly and quietly. Once they’d returned, Aela got into an argument with a guard about how she hadn’t brought back proof of the fugitive’s death.

“What, did you want me to cart back his head?” she said, clearly restraining herself from hitting the guard. It was then that an older man in uniform appeared, grey hair still hanging on around the edges of his head, deep wrinkles lining his face. However, there was little to show his age in his movements.

“Harbinger,” he said. “My apologies for the misunderstanding.” He quickly counted out gold coins into a pouch. “Be sure to bring any further problems to me.” He handed over the pouch.

Aela sighed and the anger seemed to wash out of her. Thaegoth caught the old guard giving him a suspicious look.

“My thanks, Commander,” said Aela. “If you’ve got any more work, send it our way.”

The Commander looked at Thaegoth again before answering. “Will do, Harbinger,” he said.

On the way back up to Jorrvaskr, Thaegoth asked, “Who was that?”

“Caius,” said Aela. She sighed again and ran a hand over her face. “Been guard commander a long time. A good man. Good enough.”

Outside their hall she counted out a small percentage of the coins and passed them to Thaegoth. “Your share,” she said.

“Did I pass… whatever test that was?” asked Thaegoth, trying not to snatch the coins from her.

“Huh,” said Aela. “You gotta be less of an idiot, but… Sonja might’ve made a good decision.” She turned away and entered Jorrvaskr. Thaegoth took a moment to wipe the new-found grin off his face, then followed her.


	13. A Kidnapping

It was a week or so after the death of the fugitive, and Thaegoth had begun to have a suspicion. Chiefly he believed—though he had no clear proof—that Aela was subtly working to keep him and Sonja apart from one another.

Sometimes this was clearly difficult, out of the Harbinger’s hands. Thaegoth could not help running into Sonja often around the living quarters or up in the hall. But where Aela could have a hand, she seemed to Thaegoth to be using it. Training regimens, errands around the town, small missions into Whiterun Hold, all seemed conspired to keep the pair apart. What Thaegoth was unable to work out was why.

Sonja, however, barely noticed. She did feel slightly more at ease, she thought, though she could not put her finger on the cause. Really she was not particularly interested in finding the cause, more in letting the feeling last as long as possible.

But as the days passed she began to grow as suspicious as Thaegoth. More than once he thought he caught her watching him practice his archery. More than once she thought he’d been waiting for her approach so they could have a few more chance encounters in the hall than normal.

This subtle working against Aela’s own subtle machinations had been going on for about another week. Thaegoth was up at the Skyforge, pondering these developments, half-listening to Nebia give Thorald instructions on a new mace she wanted.

“There weren’t nothing in the armoury strong enough,” Nebia was saying. “I need something with weight, right?”

“Right,” said Thorald, smiling. “But you still want to hold it in one hand, don’t you?”

“Course,” said Nebia. “Gotta be delivering my left hook, don’t I?”

“Course,” said Thorald.

In the practice yard, Aela and Sonja were lazily sparring with wooden swords, more as an excuse to talk than anything else.

“Nazeem’s a shifty snivelling bastard, sure,” said Aela, over the sound of the clacking swords, “but you gotta deal with him anyway. Fella’s got too much influence to ignore.”

“How can he have influence,” said Sonja, grunting at a blow on her forearm, “if everybody hates him?”

“Gold,” said Aela. “Though he—”

She broke off, looking off over Sonja’s shoulder. Sonja, thinking she was looking up at the Skyforge, turned. However, she was faced with a Whiterun guard, breathing heavily.

“I knocked at the front,” said the guard, talking almost too fast for Sonja to follow. “But there was no-one there.”

“We’re here,” said Aela, moving closer, still holding the wooden sword. “Slow down. What is it?”

“I’m not allowed to say,” said the guard between deep breaths.

“Then you better have a damned good reason for why you’re wasting my time,” said Aela.

The guard straightened. “Jarl Balgruuf needs to see you. It’s urgent.”

“You know,” said Sonja, “we’re not under his command.”

Aela threw her practice sword down on a bench and threw Sonja a withering look. “Come on,” she said. Sonja returned her own sword and Aela’s to the rack, then hurried to follow.

From the Skyforge, Thaegoth saw them go. He thought he caught Sonja sending a searching gaze towards him, but could not be sure.

“Something’s going on,” he said.

Thorald didn’t bother turning around, but Nebia took a look and elbowed Thaegoth in the ribs. “Sorry you weren’t invited, eh?” she asked.

“If it’s important, they’ll let us know,” said Thaegoth, though he sounded surer than he felt. He turned back to see Thorald looking at him with a small frown.

“Your sword’s turning out more complicated than I thought,” said the blacksmith. “Might be beyond my abilities, to be true with you. If you wanted to get Adrienne to finish the job, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Thaegoth shook his head. “I believe in you,” he said. “If you just push yourself, I reckon it’s within reach.” He paused. “If you want to take a break, Nebia could use her mace.”

“Words of wisdom,” said Nebia. “I’d be listening to this one if I was you, Thorald.”

“Right,” said Thorald, his frown easing, turning back to the forge.

On the way up to Dragonsreach, Sonja attempted to get more information out of the guard that led them in their hurried way upwards.

“You can’t tell us what this is about?” she asked.

“More like I don’t know,” said the guard. “Just got told to get down to Jorrvaskr quick-like. If there’s a loop, I ain’t in it.”

Aela shot Sonja another look. They all kept quiet as they were conducted swiftly through Dragonsreach—oddly silent in such an hour—up to the Jarl’s chamber. Balgruuf was again propped up in bed, Irileth standing by his side. The other person in the room, leaning on the wall, was a Redguard hunter that Sonja recognised as Amren. The guard, after showing them in, bowed and exited.

“Shut the door,” was the first thing the Jarl said.

Sonja, the closest, did so, trying not to make eye contact with the guard outside as she did. Balgruuf coughed and beckoned the pair of Companions closer. Irileth’s brow seemed like it had never seen anything other than a frown. Amren’s hands were unable to keep still. For a moment there was silence.

“My lord,” said Irileth, “do you want me to—”

“I can speak for myself well enough!” growled Balgruuf. He cleared his throat loud enough that Sonja was sure it could be heard down in the market. “My brother, Hrongar, has been kidnapped,” he said.

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Irileth quickly.

“There is no other explanation,” said Balgruuf, spittle staining his bedclothes.

“You want us to get him back,” said Aela.

“There has been no ransom demand yet,” said Irileth, “but we felt… we felt that it would be better to deal with this quietly.”

“I will not pay gold to those who would dare harm my blood,” said Balgruuf.

“How did it happen?” asked Aela.

Balgruuf waved a hand at Amren, who abruptly straightened and seemed to notice the Companions for the first time. He inclined his head at them and began to speak.

“We were hunting,” he said. “Hrongar and me, to the north-east—”

“Don’t tell us,” said Aela. “Show us.” There was an energy to her voice that Sonja hadn’t heard in a long time. “If you want to keep this quiet, meet us on the road north. We’ll need to move quick, before the trail disappears. Go.”

Amren hesitated for a moment, then hurried from the room. Balgruuf grunted.

“I knew I had made the right choice,” he said.

“Thank us later,” said Aela, already leaving. Sonja hesitated a moment longer to give the Jarl and Irileth a farewell nod, before hurrying after the Harbinger.

As they exited Dragonsreach, Sonja could see Amren hurrying down below towards the city gates. Sonja restrained herself from taking two steps down at a time in order to keep up with Aela.

“We’re heading out now?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Aela. But the sharpness of that word kept Sonja from asking anything further. As they approached Jorrvaskr, the Harbinger waved up at the Skyforge, where Sonja could see Thaegoth and Nebia talking with Thorald. Aela’s gestures gave no room for misinterpretation and Sonja was barely into the centre of the hall before Thaegoth came rushing in. Nebia was slower, Thorald gingerly following at the rear. Aela waited until they were all gathered inside before speaking.

“Hrongar’s been kidnapped,” she said.

“Who?” asked Nebia.

“The Jarl’s brother,” said Thaegoth quickly.

“Oh,” said Nebia. “Younger or older?”

“Younger, I think,” said Thaegoth.

“Shut it, both of you,” said Aela. Thaegoth felt a sudden chill. “We’re heading out now,” Aela went on, “before the trail gets cold. All of us. Thorald, can you keep an eye on things here?”

“Be happy to, Aela,” said Thorald. Aela nodded like she’d expected nothing less.

“We’re all going?” asked Thaegoth. This sort of emergency, he reasoned, would put Aela’s separation plans on hold, at least for a while.

“Yes,” said the Harbinger. “Get your gear, all of you. We leave in five minutes. You’re not back here then, we leave without you.”

Sonja didn’t think she’d ever seen Thaegoth move so fast. She had to admit, of course, that she was racing down the stairs right after him. He grinned over his shoulder at her and without thinking she found herself grinning back.


	14. Spoor

The Companions met Amren on the north road. Sonja stuck close to Aela, leaving Thaegoth with Nebia. The Redguard hunter fell in with them as they kept heading north.

“Thank you for doing this so quickly,” said Amren.

“Just tell us what happened,” said Aela.

Amren cleared his throat and had the decency to look embarrassed. “We were hunting,” he said. “Me and Hrongar. We go out as much as we can in the summer. Frothar came with us sometimes… before. Well.”

“Did Hrongar seem odd?” asked Thaegoth. His brief interaction with the Jarl’s brother hadn’t led him to believe the man was unstable. Reckless, perhaps, but he had seemed like a steadfast fighter, true to his beliefs.

“No, but,” said Amren.

“How far are we going?” asked Aela, cutting him off.

Amren cleared his throat. “The mammoth graveyard,” he said.

“Oh, fuck,” said Nebia. Thaegoth distinctly heard Sonja’s sharp intake of breath.

“What?” he asked. “What is that?” Again he felt the barrier of not being a native. No mammoths back down in Cyrodiil, though he thought he knew enough to recognise one when he saw it, he couldn’t say he knew much more than that.

“Take a wild fucking guess,” said Nebia. Sonja snorted and kept herself from answering Thaegoth.

“It’s where the mammoths go to die,” said Amren. “Hrongar wanted to bring one down.”

“He wanted to…” said Nebia, fading off into astonishment. “That’s a good way to get a giant’s club bringing your skull down between your legs. This is the bloodline you’ve got running the city? Gods, it’s a miracle none of you decided to punch a dragon.”

“Can you fight giants?” asked Thaegoth.

“You can,” said Aela. Thaegoth remembered then what the kid Galt had said about the Huntress. He’d passed it off as a childhood legend, but when Aela added, “But it ain’t easy,” he wasn’t so sure.

“Giants don’t kidnap people,” said Sonja. “Tell us what happened.”

“We were poking around in the graveyard,” said Amren, not meeting any of their eyes now as they walked. “When suddenly there were a bunch of people around us. Armed, with scarves over their faces. Something hit me over the back of my head. When I came to, everybody was gone. And… there was blood on the dirt.”

“You didn’t mention that to the Jarl,” said Sonja. She didn’t know how she guessed that, but Amren looked caught out enough for her to know she’d hit the right mark.

“No,” he said. “I told Irileth, when I came in. She said not to mention it.”

Aela grunted. “People got a habit of doing what Irileth tells them to.”

“Did anybody know where you were going?” asked Thaegoth. He counted it unlikely that a group of enterprising bandits just happened to be passing by this dangerous graveyard while the Jarl’s brother was there.

Amren shrugged. “It wasn’t a secret,” he said. “We were planning it in the Bannered Mare, anybody could’ve heard us.”

Without looking around, Aela said, “Who brought their bow?” She had her own in her hand. Sonja cursed under her breath for forgetting her own. She could picture it, leaning against her endtable with its full quiver on the bed.

“I did,” said Thaegoth, and Sonja had to turn away to avoid the look of superiority on his face.

“Keep it ready, the place is close,” said Aela. She stopped, bringing everybody else to a halt, and turned to Amren. “Anything else you can tell us?”

Amren scratched at his chin and looked worriedly at the path ahead of them. He shook his head. “I’m sorry there’s nothing more,” he said.

“Then let us take it from here,” said Aela.

Amren nodded and went to move away. Thaegoth held out a hand. An idea had just occurred to him.

“Maybe,” he said, “you could tell anyone who asks that Hrongar decided to take a fishing trip down at…?” He grappled for a local name.

“Lake Ilinalta?” asked Sonja, her voice thick with disdain. “Like anybody’s going to believe that when his brother’s on his deathbed.” She looked at the others for support, but Aela’s gaze was fixed northwards towards the graveyard, and Nebia just shrugged.

“Worth a shot,” she said.

Sonja wondered how much time Nebia and Thaegoth had been spending together, whether he’d wormed his way into her confidences. Nobody had shared a secret with Sonja in a long time.

“I’ll try,” said Amren. “And thank you.” He moved away, back towards Whiterun.

In a moment, they were among the bones. Thaegoth’s grip on his bow became slack as he gazed at the bleached white spurs that had once been the frameworks of such huge beasts. He tried to estimate their size and found his imagination failed him. What place was this, where giants herded mammoths and dragons filled the skies? More improbably, a place where regular people fought such creatures, and won? He realised his mouth was hanging open and that Nebia was smirking at him.

Sonja looked away from Thaegoth’s wonder, remembering her own when she’d seen her first mammoth as a young child. From a distance of course, in the company of her father on a rare trip out of Markarth. In those days, the Reach had been too dangerous for much hunting. Bandits, Forsworn, and then dragons. All cut down in droves by the Dragonborn. Sonja forced herself to focus on Aela, who was crouched in the dirt, examining the bloodstains Amren had mentioned, and the surrounding footprints.

“Half a dozen,” said Aela. She swung lightly around a tusk that jutted from the earth and crouched again. “At least two in heavy armour. Waiting here a while.” She stood up and gestured at the other markings in the dirt, though neither Thaegoth nor Sonja could make anything from them. “Well-spread out. Not idiots. Got Amren quickly, but Hrongar put up a fight.”

“He’s wounded?” asked Thaegoth.

“Someone is,” said Aela.

“You said waiting,” said Nebia. “Not a job of the moment, then.”

Thaegoth nodded. “Someone heard them planning the trip,” he said.

“Why’d someone want to kidnap Hrongar?” asked Sonja. Immediately the scoffing noise that came from the throats of Nebia and Thaegoth made her regret the question. Too quickly, Sonja added, “Guess that must be a stupid question for a bandit. Sorry, ex-bandit.”

Thaegoth’s face dropped into stony immobility, but Nebia just laughed.

“The reason’s always gold,” she said. “Jarl’s sitting on a pile of it. What’d he pay to get his brother back?”

“Balgruuf’d call in the Legion before he’d pay a ransom,” said Aela. She pointed to the north-west, then put an arrow to her bow. “They dragged Hrongar out this way. Let’s move.”

With Aela and Thaegoth in front with bows strung, the Companions headed into the Pale. Sonja mentioned as such, and Thaegoth filed the name away. That took the Whiterun guards out of the equation, as had happened with the fugitive he and Aela had hunted into Falkreath. A jurisdictional issue again, which seemed to be when the Companions were called in.

“Kidnapping’s a pain, though,” said Nebia after a while. “Risky sorta job. Too much to go wrong, too much attention. Whoever’s doing this is either reckless or stupid.”

“Or ambitious,” said Thaegoth, over his shoulder. He returned his gaze to the tracks, trying to puzzle out the meanings that seemed so clear to Aela.

“Jarls make enemies like no-one else,” said Nebia. “Could be someone’s got a grudge ’gainst Balgruuf. Or Hrongar.”

“People like Balgruuf,” insisted Sonja. “They respect him. Have for as long as I can remember.”

“You weren’t here for the civil war,” said Aela, not looking up from the tracks.

“That was years ago,” said Sonja. She’d been fourteen when news had come through that the Dragonborn had crashed through the gates of Windhelm with the Imperial Legion. It was said she delivered the final blow to Ulfric herself. In her native Markarth then, Sonja had seen both celebration and commiseration. A divided city in an allegedly no-longer-divided land. It seemed like a lifetime ago to her, but for those of the generation above, 4E 204 was not so long ago.

“Anyone knows how to hold grudges, it’s the Nords,” said Nebia.

 “You should see the Imperial City,” said Thaegoth. “Step on a noble’s toes on Morndas, he’s ruined your family by Fredas.”

“That where you’re from?” asked Sonja, despite her earlier convictions. Nebia’s talk of uncertain pasts had gotten her interested, though she wasn’t exactly expecting Thaegoth to reveal all while they were roaming the hills of the Pale.

“Once upon a time,” said Thaegoth, smiling quickly at her. Sonja looked away.

Silence held over the Companions again. Between the trees, Thaegoth saw a spur of rock rising in their path, the ground striking up to block them. The air felt colder and he suspected were it not still summer, they would be walking through a thick blanket of snow.

Sonja angled her voice low, leaned towards Nebia, and said, “Sorry.”

“For what?” asked Nebia. “Oh, calling me a bandit? Nah, forget it. It’s true, anyway. Some of me still wakes up wondering why nobody’s stolen my gear in the night. Or cut my throat.”

Before Sonja could think of something to say, Aela swore under her breath.

“What is it?” asked Sonja.

“I know none of you can read a print,” said Aela, “but you two are natives at least. You know where we’re headed.” She pointed to the west.

Sonja scanned the trees, trying to orientate herself in relation to Whiterun, and the way they’d come. Nebia was frowning at the sky.

“Can’t say I’ve committed any crimes round these parts,” she said. “Course, I would say that.”

Gradually the location came to Sonja. “Why would they...?” she asked.

Aela ground her teeth together. “Weapons out,” she said.

“What is it?” asked Thaegoth, and it didn’t escape Sonja how similar his tone was to hers just a moment ago. Aela’s grip tightened on her bow.

“Labyrinthian,” she said.


	15. Agnus Dei

The snow started to crunch under their feet as Aela led them closer to Labyrinthian. Thaegoth wished again that he’d invested in some furs. If this was what Skyrim was like in summer, he couldn’t imagine it in the deepest winter. Would the snow reach Whiterun? And what was it like even further north? He shivered and kept his eyes forward—for even he could see the tracks of their quarry now, clear through the snow.

“What’s Labyrinthian?” he asked, looking at Aela. However, the Huntress ignored him, her gaze fixed ahead of them, so he was forced to turn to Sonja.

With obvious reluctance, she said, “It’s a ruin. Nordic. Shortcut from the north.”

“If you don’t mind trolls,” said Aela.

“Everybody minds trolls,” said Nebia.

“Is there a labyrinth inside it?” asked Thaegoth.

“Quiet,” said Aela. “We’re close.”

They were indeed: suddenly they were cutting across an obvious path. Thaegoth barely had time to notice stairs angling up to the north before they were off the path again, then slipping between crags to walk on stone. The solidity was a welcome relief, he thought, to have built construction under his feet once more rather than uncertain wilderness.

They stood on a high platform, overlooking the snowbound stone ruins. To their right was a staircase, descending to a doorway that led who knew into what depths. Ahead of them were wide stairs going down to the mess of ruined arches and columns that made up the surface of Labyrinthian.

“Don’t make em like this anymore,” breathed Nebia.

“There,” said Aela, pointing.

Down at ground level, unconscious and tied to a column, was Hrongar. Blood seeped from a wound on his head. Sonja started down the stairs, but Aela pulled her back. Her eyes scanned the area.

“Could be a trap,” said Thaegoth. He cursed himself for speaking the obvious.

Aela was silent for a moment, then shook her head. “Tracks lead off north,” she said. “They’re long gone.”

“Why would they kidnap him just to dump him here?” asked Thaegoth.

Sonja’s breath caught as she followed Aela’s gaze. Suddenly she understood. The kidnappers didn’t want a ransom. They wanted Hrongar dead. For there was a frost troll bearing down on the incapacitated man.

Aela called Thaegoth’s name and together they launched their arrows. Aela’s hit home in the troll’s left shoulder, but Thaegoth’s went high. He cursed and launched again, over the heads of Sonja and Nebia, who were charging down the stairs. His arrow glanced off the troll’s hand.

“Distract it!” called Aela. She got off two more shots, both landing in the troll’s side. She set off down the stairs, Thaegoth hurrying after her. Aela dropped her bow and drew her sword, Thaegoth copying the action.

The troll, recognising the threat, drew away from the easy meal of Hrongar. It roared and charged at Sonja and Nebia. The pair dived apart, leaving the troll bearing down on Aela and Thaegoth.

“Don’t let it hit you,” yelled Sonja, and it seemed to Thaegoth that she was saying it just to him. He had a moment to be both gratified and offended before the troll was close enough that he had to dart out of the way of its lengthy arms. One limb came within a hand’s width of knocking at his nose, and he flailed at it with his blade, drawing blood.

Sonja and Nebia cut in from the other side. Nebia let out a manic laugh and slammed her mace into the troll’s behind, while Sonja hacked at the troll’s right ankle. The troll swung around at her and she raised her shield—she was the only one of the group so equipped. Undoubtedly at that moment, it saved her life. But the thump of trollflesh on metal made the latter dent, sent Sonja reeling backwards, and something cracked in her left arm.

Thaegoth felt something drop in his chest as Sonja fell back in the snow. With teeth pressed tight together, he lunged and drove his sword into the troll’s left thigh. A blow came towards him and met Aela’s blade instead. Nebia was building on Sonja’s work and had all but demolished the troll’s right leg.

The creature roared and dropped forwards, propping itself up with its arms. Sonja sat up and, blinking through the pain in her arm, saw Hrongar slowly open his eyes.

Aela hacked into the troll’s head, then again. Only when it had slumped completely onto its front did she relent. Nebia strolled around the body and buried her mace in the troll’s head a few times on top of that.

“They heal real quick,” she said to Thaegoth. “Gotta make sure.”

Aela was walking over to Hrongar, who was frowning and trying to take in the scene around him. Sonja made herself breathe slow and tested the limits of her pain. She was gingerly tugging off her shield when Thaegoth’s voice made her flinch.

“Need any help with that?” he asked.

The flinch brought a spike of pain and she wanted to spit up in his face.

“I got it,” she said, though his expression seemed to be nothing but genuine concern.

“Make her a sling,” said Aela. She was using her troll-bloodstained sword to cut the ropes that secured Hrongar to the column. Thaegoth was already tearing a strip from his undershirt before Sonja could object. Nebia, standing atop the body of the troll, grinned over at her.

“Don’t,” Sonja growled at her, pointing with her unbroken arm.

“No idea what you’re talking bout,” said Nebia.

Sonja felt her face grow red as Thaegoth helped her into the sling. Thaegoth, for his part, focussed entirely on ensuring the job went as smoothly and painlessly as possible. It was only afterwards, realising how close they had been, that he turned away, mumbled something, and looked for something to occupy himself. Still on top of the troll, Nebia was trying and failing to hide laughter.

By the column, Aela appeared not to have noticed any of this. She helped Hrongar to his feet. The blood on his head had solidified, but he was still groggy and shambling. Aela propped him up against the column, holding him an arm’s length away.

“What happened?” he groaned.

“Amren told us,” said Aela.

“Someone wanted you to be troll-food,” called Nebia, still from atop that very creature.

“Get off there,” said Sonja. She got to her feet, making a point of not looking like she needed help.

“No,” said Nebia.

“Got here quick,” said Hrongar.

“Yes,” said Aela. “What do you remember?”

“At the graveyard, then… here. You. Is Amren alive?”

“He’s fine,” said Aela. “Though you’re both fools. Hunting mammoths is an imbecile’s game.”

“Stick to fishing,” said Nebia. “Good thing we got here in time, huh? Else you’d be all eaten.”

Sonja was the only Companion close enough to hear Aela’s sigh. The Huntress looked her up and down.

“Get Hrongar back to Whiterun,” she said. She pointed south. “No point taking the long way we came in by.”

“You’re not coming?” asked Sonja, frowning.

Aela shook her head and waved to Thaegoth and Nebia. The latter finally jumped down from the troll’s corpse, looking like she hadn’t had such a nice day out in years.

“We’re heading north,” said Aela. “Follow the tracks.”

Sonja felt then as she had when she was the rawest recruit in the Companions. Farmed off to simple, less dangerous missions. Now, thanks to the massacre, she was second in seniority. Operating alone for so long, this chafed at her. But before she could open her mouth to object, Aela cut her off.

“I know you can keep up,” said the Harbinger. “But whoever’s after Hrongar knows what they’re doing. There’s a fight, I don’t want you one limb down. Soon as he’s back in Dragonsreach, you head to the healers.”

Sonja breathed out. “Alright,” she said.

Awkwardly she found her sword and onehandedly returned it to its scabbard. Her shield she had to carry in her right hand. If they ran into trouble on the way home, she’d have to drop it and draw her sword—for Hrongar was recovered enough to stand upright and walk, but not much else. Whatever weapon he might have been carrying had perhaps been taken by those who’d dragged him to Labyrinthian.

“Stay sharp,” said Aela, before they separated. “Remember: these aren’t kidnappers, they’re murderers.”


	16. Unfolding

On the way back to Whiterun, Sonja wondered if she could take down Hrongar if she needed to. He’d shoved away the arm she’d offered him, insisting that he needed no help from anybody.

In his day, perhaps, he’d been a formidable warrior. He certainly told large tales of his deeds—Sonja had caught a few on the occasions she’d passed by him in the Bannered Mare. Whether his current abilities would live up to that scale was another matter entirely. He was a big man, but slowed down by that size and by age.

And he was cocky. Trying to hunt mammoths gave the truth to that. Though Sonja was careful not to insist to herself that she could take Hrongar down in her current condition. That would be to fall into the same cockiness that was his failing.

She was jolted out of her imaginary battles, when they were finally out past the last struts of Labyrinthian, and Hrongar spoke.

“You got to me quick,” he said.

Was this his version of a thank you? Sonja frowned at him, but the Jarl’s brother was keeping his eyes on his feet, keeping his steps steady.

“Aela’s the best,” she said.

Hrongar grunted. “At tracking,” he said. “She’s no diplomat.”

Sonja bit back the outrage at any insult to her Harbinger. After all, she’d levelled enough internal rage at Aela in the days when she’d been locked up in her quarters, drinking and drinking. Hrongar went on.

“She’ll find the bastards that did this”—here he tapped at his head and winced—“but she don’t know the questions to ask. More likely she’ll piss someone off and there’ll be swords out before there’s anything else.”

“Maybe,” said Sonja. Though privately she thought, despite Nebia’s destructive influence, that Thaegoth might be the sort of person who’d know those questions back to front. And, more importantly, might be able to get Aela to see that they were important ones to ask.

On her own, Sonja struggled to think of one to ask Hrongar. Nothing nuanced, nothing subtle. Her mind felt like a blunt object.

“You got any enemies?” was the best she could come up with.

Hrongar laughed. “Who’d want me troll-food?” he said. “I talk straight-like. Pisses some right off. But… this is something else.”

“We thought you were kidnapped, at first,” said Sonja. Whiterun was in sight now, the huge peak of Dragonsreach towering over the plain. The pair headed south towards it, Sonja keeping a watchful eye to the west, where the bandit camp of the Silent Moons held itself.

“Ha!” said Hrongar. “Balgruuf’d let me rot before he’d pay a ransom to bandits. Or anyone.”

“Even for his own brother?” asked Sonja. Raised as an only child, she could only theorise. But she knew how quickly she would head west to Markarth if she heard her father was in trouble.

“He told me right out,” said Hrongar, and Sonja thought he said it appreciatively. “Back in the civil war. Thought the Stormcloaks might have a go at me, after we declared for the Legion. Said he wouldn’t be held for a grain of wheat, not for anyone.”

“Gods,” said Sonja, before she thought Hrongar might take offense to that. However, he seemed not to notice that she’d spoken.

“This, though,” he said. “Balgruuf’d be more ready to move on revenge. Blood for blood.”

Remembering the discussion back at the mammoth graveyard, Sonja said, “Someone knew where you’d be.”

“I’m not exactly subtle,” said Hrongar. “Probably half of Whiterun knew where we were heading.”

“Any grudges?” asked Sonja, thinking that this was indeed exactly the sort of job she’d rather farm out to Thaegoth. Surely it wouldn’t be too long before that elf got the hang of Whiterun politics? Then maybe he could trek around with Aela, visiting the apparently important people.

Hrongar grunted. “Proventus and I never got along. Always looking for ways to cut each other down. But he ain’t the type to hire thugs.”

“Agreed,” said Sonja. Her interactions with the Jarl’s steward were minimal—mostly because he had clearly decided to have nothing to do with her—but his reputation was well-known. A politician, with all that title implied, but a murderer? It didn’t seem to fit.

“Caius, and his greedy guards,” said Hrongar. “That’s a different tale.”

Sonja inhaled. She’d heard the stories of the Thieves Guild expansion. Who hadn’t, at this point? Most everybody of note had a story about losing some valuable or other to the Guild. And all the while, the guards did nothing. Nothing but take bribes, as some said.

“Might not be personal,” admitted Hrongar. “Could be”—he turned his mouth around the word as if it tasted foul—“political.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sonja.

“Might be someone’s looking to thin the family line,” he said.

Sonja tried to get her mind around the succession in Dragonsreach. She shook her head and decided to prod a little further. Hrongar appeared to be in a voluble mood, anyhow.

“Who takes over if Balgruuf dies?” she asked.

Hrongar rolled the question around for a while before answering. When he did, he seemed reluctant to admit his knowledge of the issue. Sonja supposed, due to his blood-ties, there was no way he could avoid it.

“If he’d died before the children were of age, then it would’ve been me. Temporarily. I got no designs on that throne. Now…”

He scratched at his chin, then tried to poke at his head-wound again. He winced, tugged his hand away, and continued speaking.

“Since Frothar died, the heir is Dagny.” Sonja realised she’d never actually seen the second child of Balgruuf, as Hrongar went on to explain why. “But she’s been in the Imperial City for years. We sent word her brother died, her father was dying”—that last word wrenched itself from Hrongar’s mouth. “She did not come.”

Sonja wondered at the perils involved in getting a message as far south into Cyrodiil as the Imperial City. Surely by now there were established routes and customs? And if Thaegoth had made the journey in reverse without dying, then… but maybe Cyrodiilic couriers were made of softer stuff than those of Skyrim, who had often astonished even Farkas and Vilkas with their tenacity.

“If she still does not come,” said Hrongar, “then… Nelkir.” He grunted. “Just because it’d be right doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“And if... someone’s trying to take out all of you?” asked Sonja.

“Meaning Frothar weren’t an accident?” said Hrongar. That hadn’t been what Sonja was thinking, but she did recall people being surprised that Frothar had fallen from his horse. It had seemed out of character for such an active youth. Hrongar said, “Then since Elisif made herself High Queen, she can appoint whoever she likes. Or the Empire can shift it all around like they did after the war. Lot of Jarls owe their jobs to the Dragonborn cutting off Ulfric’s head.”

Hrongar shook his head and spat to his side away from Sonja.

“You ain’t a native,” he said, as if he’d just remembered who he was talking to. “And you’re too young to remember what the war was like.”

“I remember,” insisted Sonja.

“Not here you don’t,” said Hrongar. “No clear successor? Everything’d be wide open again. Battle-Borns and Gray-Manes at each other’s throats. And there’s a few of our neighbours who’d like a bite of our trade routes, that’s for damned sure. Gods-damned chaos.”

Hrongar felt back into silence as they came closer to Whiterun. Together they passed through the gates, Hrongar angrily waving away questions from the guards. Under the Gildergreen, Sonja made to continue alongside him, but he halted.

“I can take it from here,” he said. “And... best not mention what I’ve been saying, right?”

Sonja nodded and Hrongar moved away up the stairs towards Dragonsreach. Instead of heading for the healers as Aela had instructed, Sonja went straight for Jorrvaskr. Inside she found Thorald stoking up the fire. He’d tidied the place up some, which brought a frown to Sonja’s face. Not his job. She sighed and leaned her shield against a chair. She certainly couldn’t be pushing him away now.

“What happened?” asked Thorald. “Your arm. Where are the others?”

“They went on,” said Sonja. “Hrongar’s alive. Back.” She gestured vaguely behind her.

“What happened to your arm?” asked Thorald, coming closer.

“Troll,” said Sonja. “Wrecked all your work on my shield,” she added, kicking at the dented metal disk.

Thorald frowned at the shield for a moment. “Nothing beyond my powers,” he said. “Come on, let me take you over to the temple.”

He moved past her to re-open the door for her, but his eyebrows went up as he got a closer look at her sling.

“Is that Thaegoth’s shirt?” he asked.

“Don’t,” said Sonja.


	17. Moorside Troubles

The tracks were clear all the way out of Labyrinthian and beyond. Aela still led Nebia and Thaegoth, but any of them could have followed the route that led on to a path that dropped between spurs of snow-capped rocks and emerged into a town. Thaegoth looked around at the wooden houses, at the walkway that extended out over the water to the east to lead to more houses. There was stone bridge ahead of them and the entire town appeared to be on uneven ground.

“Morthal,” said Nebia. She sniffed. “Ain’t been here in years. Place got a smell to it.”

“Keep it to yourself,” said Aela, before treading towards the nearest guard, standing on duty outside a longhouse. Thaegoth guessed that this must be the Jarl’s residence, being the largest building in sight, but it was still a far cry from Dragonsreach. Life in Skyrim away from the major capitals certainly had a different feel to it. He remembered how cosy Falkreath had felt. There was none of that sensation to Morthal.

After treading over the guard’s greeting—they obviously recognised Aela—the Harbinger spoke quickly and quietly. The guard nodded and gestured to the north, at a building just off the west of the path, accessed by another wooden walkway over the water.

“Three of them, at the inn,” said Aela, turning to frown at Nebia and Thaegoth, who’d been edging closer.

“Good to see the Companions back in action,” said the guard, but Aela just grunted and moved away. Thaegoth made a quick smile at the guard, but the full-faced helmet made it impossible to see if it was returned.

The trio of Companions approached the inn. As they stepped onto the walkway, Thaegoth examined the sign: The Moorside Inn. The sign featured a half-moon, the lighted side formed into a not particularly happy-looking face.

“Three ain’t enough,” said Nebia.

“Others must have kept moving through, else I’d have seen the tracks,” said Aela. She thrust open the door to the inn. The interior was almost identical to Dead Man’s Drink, where Thaegoth had spent his first coin in Skyrim. In fact, it was so similar, with its firepit, furs on the floor, spread out benches and chairs, that he expected to be flirted with by the waitress, to be told legends by aged hunters.

But the Moorside Inn was close to empty. The only guests were another trio to match the Companions: two Nord men, both large and dark-bearded. Thaegoth knew immediately he was going to have trouble telling them apart. The third was a woman, slightly shorter but no less bulky than the men, a Breton from the cast of her face. All three looked up when the Companions entered. The two men looked worried, but the woman grinned and raised her bottle towards them.

“A toast!” she said.

“A toast!” said the first man, getting to his feet. “To the glorious resurrection of the Companions. May we live many more days under your gloriousity.”

Aela was slowly crossing the room towards them, and Thaegoth fell in on her right, Nebia on the left.

“But things are not once they once was,” insisted the second man, also rising. He hiccupped and continued. “Never see the likes of Kodlak again, that’s for gods-damned fucking sure.”

“Of course you remember the Whitemane,” said the woman, remaining seated. “You’re old enough to remember Ysgramor himself.”

The second man pointed at her and looked about to argue, when the first man spoke again. He drew closer to the Companions and Thaegoth felt a tension he couldn’t see mirrored on anybody else in the room.

“So where you recruiting these glorious replacements from next?” asked the first man. “Heard you’d been scouting the arena, spose you’ll be taking a tour of the jails next. Never know where you’ll find the next Farkas, hmm? Could be a bandit, you know. A nice murderer or rapist to fill the ranks.”

Thaegoth watched Aela’s face, but nothing flickered across it. Indeed, the Harbinger appeared impossibly still.

Nebia, on the other hand, lunged forward, grabbed the first man by the shoulders, and hurled him across the room. He crashed into the bar, sending stools flying. When he came up there was an axe in his hand. Finally, the Breton woman rose, and the second man had a hand on his own weapon when Aela unfroze, and extended a hand.

“Enough,” she said. She took a small pouch of gold off her belt and tossed it over to the bartender. “We’re taking this outside.”

The first man slowly lowered his axe. “Fine,” he said. “But you’re going first.”

Aela shrugged and turned her back on the trio. Thaegoth watched carefully, backing towards the door after her. Nebia threw him a scornful look.

“They’re not going to fight us here, guards’d be all over them,” she murmured at him.

Still, Thaegoth kept his eyes flicking back and forth between all of the trio as the Companions trod outside, down the walkway, and back to solid earth. There were a couple of guards in sight, watching, but keeping their distance. The Companions had earned such respect, Thaegoth had gathered. And now it was partly up to him not to squander it.

Once all of them were outside, the man Nebia had thrown came at her, his axe raised again. She grabbed the shaft of his weapon in both hands, halting the strike. She twisted his arms to the side with a crunch and he cried out and let go the axe. Nebia grinned, headbutted him, used the moment of him reeling back to draw her mace, then thunked him with it in the face. He went down.

Thaegoth had his sword out then, as did the remaining man and woman. Several guards had drawn close, their own weapons out, while townspeople watched from doorways. Aela, however, again remained still.

“Enough,” she said again, harsher than before. “Who hired you?”

“Fuck this,” said the remaining man. “Fuck you.”

He turned and bolted to the north, sword still in hand. The guards hesitated, seemingly unsure of whether to interfere. Aela sighed and had an arrow in her bow in the time it took Thaegoth to blink. The man didn’t make it to the bridge before the arrow found his back. He went down.

The woman raised her hands. “Before you say shit,” she said, “I’m happy to, uh, go quietly.”

Aela seemed suddenly tired. She gestured at Thaegoth and the woman’s attention turned to him. He cleared his throat and tried to think of the best questions to ask.

“Who hired you?” he asked.

The woman snorted and swayed a little. Thaegoth wondered how much the trio had managed to drink before the Companions showed up. Though admittedly, he hadn’t noticed anything drunken about the woman’s appearance before. Violence usually had a habit of sobering people up, not the other way around. He frowned and peered closer as the woman started talking.

“This is bout the shit with the Jarl’s brother, yeah?” she said. “Gotta make sure, so many crimes to keep track of.” Nebia chuckled and the woman cracked a smile, then went on. “Yeah, so, you’re not going to believe this, but...”

“Try me,” said Thaegoth.

“It was a beggar,” said the woman. “Came walking right into our camp, shitting himself, babbling about hiring us. We were about to, uh, send him on his way, when he pulls out a pouch just bursting with gold and says there’s much more—so much more, right—if we drag what’s-his-name out and leave him for the trolls.”

“Working for someone else,” said Nebia.

“Yeah, course,” said the woman. “Wouldn’t say who. But hey, we took the job. That much gold, wouldn’t you?”

Nebia shrugged and said, “Probably.”

“What was the beggar’s name?” asked Thaegoth.

“I dunno,” said the woman. “Not the sorta question you ask when someone’s jangling coin, yeah?”

“Then what did he look like?” asked Thaegoth, getting exasperated, and thinking Nebia would probably have more luck leading the interrogation.

“Like a beggar, what’d you think?” said the woman. “Dressed in rags, beard past his nipples, stank like this place. Redguard and uh, kinda getting old.”

“Brenuin,” said Aela.

“Who?” asked Thaegoth. Nebia was wiping off her mace on the dead man’s shirt and looked uninterested.

“Whiterun’s resident beggar,” said the Huntress. “Surprised he’s still alive.”

“Someone’s been using him as a messenger,” said Thaegoth.

“We’ll have a little word with him, then,” said Nebia.

“Yeah,” said the woman, “he didn’t seem like a real mastermind or anything. Smelled pretty drunk, too.”

Aela grunted. “He usually is,” she said. “What are we doing with this one?” she added, gesturing to the woman.

“Kill her,” said Nebia.

“Yeah, there any other options going?” asked the woman.

At last, some of the Morthal guards edged close enough to be able to speak. Aela regarded the nearest with a flat stare. Thaegoth had no doubt that expression would hold no matter what was decided. With her so uninterested, he wondered if he might be able to push through his own ideas.

“We could hold her, Harbinger,” said the guard. They gestured at the two bodies. “This is certainly cause enough.”

“I’m sorry,” said Thaegoth, “but is Labyrinthian within… this hold? Or Whiterun?”

“Hjaalmarch,” said the guard definitively, and Thaegoth knew there was no way he could have guessed that name.

But a different guard said, “No, it’s in Whiterun, remember?”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Nebia. “Crimes in both holds either way.”

“Which city would be less likely to kill me?” asked the woman.

“Whiterun,” said Thaegoth, at the same time that the guard said, “Morthal.”

Nebia laughed. “Somebody make some decision,” she said. “Else these bodies’ll start stinking so much even you lot’ll be able to smell it.”

Thaegoth was composing an argument for leniency in his head when Aela surprised him by getting there first.

“She’s not a mastermind either,” she said. “Fine her. Have her work off the difference at the mill.”

Thaegoth opened his mouth to voice his approval, but a glare from the Harbinger shut him down.

“Someone’ll have to guard her,” said one of the guards.

“You’re all standing around all day anyway,” laughed Nebia.

“Enough,” said Aela, quieter than before.

There was a moment of silence before the main guard said, “It shall be as you say, Harbinger.”

Thaegoth, though gratified, wondered if they could run into problems with the local Jarl, if the guards were giving way to the Companions’ authority so easily. He’d have to ask someone for a more detailed explanation of Skyrim politics. Thorald was the likeliest candidate for that—though he was tempted to ask Sonja.

“Apologies for the blood,” said Aela. She looked at the bodies, at the disconsolate remaining woman being disarmed by the guards, at the townspeople still watching on. “At least people know we’re back now,” she said.


	18. The Missing Beggar

Stoking the coals at one end of the firepit in Jorrvaskr, Sonja tested the pressure in her arm. The healers at the Temple of Kynareth had done a fine job, but they weren’t miracle workers. It would be a week or more, they had said, before she could remove the bindings, and longer before she would be back to full strength.

Sonja ground her teeth at the delay. Favouring her right arm, she set about preparing breakfast. Aela, Nebia, and Thaegoth had returned yesterday—late, and dirty from the road. Aela and Nebia had gone below to the sleeping quarters almost straight away, but Thaegoth had lingered.

In short sentences, he’d told what had occurred since they had parted ways at Labyrinthian. Sonja restrained herself from objecting when Thaegoth got to the part about letting the final bandit work off her crimes at the mill. It was more or less what she expected from him, by this point. After saying it, Thaegoth hesitated, looked at her and waited for that objection to come. When it didn’t, a small smile crept onto his face, but he quickly went down to bed.

The food was almost complete, and both Nebia and Thaegoth had joined her, pulling chairs around the end of the firepit, when there was a knock at the door. Sonja didn’t move. Thaegoth looked at both her and Nebia. Then he rose and went to open it. Nebia flashed a quick grin at Sonja.

Thaegoth opened the door to reveal Hrongar, in clean clothes, and with a clean bandage wrapped around his head.

“Never got to thank you properly,” he said.

Thaegoth was suddenly again aware of his position as an official member of the Companions. His every action, poorly thought out or otherwise, reflected on the group as a whole. He invited Hrongar inside and offered him something to eat.

Hrongar shook his head and said, “Aela not around?”

Around a mouthful, Nebia said, “Went out.”

“Following a lead on your, uh,” said Thaegoth.

“Attempted murder,” said Hrongar. “Call it what it is. Turns out I gotta watch my back in this city. But… thank you. All of you. Not many who’d’ve done what you lot did. Guards round here wouldn’t’ve, that’s for damned sure.”

Thaegoth went to speak, but Sonja cut him off.

“Just doing our job,” said Sonja. She was belatedly grateful that Thorald had done some tidying inside Jorrvaskr when he’d been on his own. Without it, the place would have been unpresentable, especially to the Jarl’s brother.

“Still, it means something,” said Hrongar. “You lot need support up in Dragonsreach, you got it from me. Balgruuf and me might fight more than ever these days, but...’

Hrongar never got to finish his sentence, as the door thumped open and Aela entered Jorrvaskr. Dressed in plain brown civilian clothes, the empty expression Thaegoth had noted on her in Morthal was gone, replaced by frustration.

“Can’t find Brenuin anywhere,” she said.

“Brenuin?” asked Hrongar. “What’s he got to do with this?”

But Aela was seated and spooning herself out some breakfast, so Thaegoth answered. “He was the messenger,” he said, “acting as go-between for whoever wanted to take you out.”

“Didn’t want to associate with the likes of them bandits,” said Nebia.

Thaegoth looked at her for a moment, trying to assess her feelings, before saying, “More than likely they didn’t want the bandits to be able to identify them, in case someone like us caught up with them and made them talk.”

“They did talk,” said Sonja with a snarl. “No honour among—”

“Oh and death’s better is it?” asked Nebia. She scarfed down a final mouthful and dropped her bowl with a clack. She stood up and said, “I’d take an arrow for you anyday, Sonja, but you’re a fucking moron sometimes.”

She stomped outside, through the rear doors. There was a moment of silence before Hrongar coughed.

“Danica, over at the temple,” he said, “used to give Brenuin food sometimes. Maybe ask her if she’s seen him.”

Aela grunted but made no move to get up. Thaegoth rose from his seat, but Sonja held out a hand.

“I’ll go,” she said. “I was just over there yesterday anyway.”

Thaegoth nodded and sat back down. Sonja left her meal unfinished and was grateful to get out of the hall and into Whiterun. A short walk across to the Temple of Kynareth, but the air was clear and the wind had a restorative chill. She rolled her shoulders and managed to avoid speaking to anyone on her way across the city.

Sonja had never managed to master the art of entering a room quietly. As such, Ahlam, one of the temple’s healers, saw her as soon as she entered and crossing quickly to her.

“Sonja, is your arm still troubling you?” she asked.

“No,” said Sonja, too quickly, flinching away. Already she regretted volunteering for this job. “Is Danica here?” she asked.

Ahlam folded her arms and shook her head. “She’s up at Dragonsreach with the Jarl again. Maybe she’ll extract my husband from his backside while she’s up there.”

Sonja had no idea how to respond to that. Ahlam and Nazeem’s unhappy marriage was common knowledge to everybody in Whiterun—though Sonja certainly wasn’t going to offer any comment to Ahlam’s face. Or behind her face, for that matter. Gossip had a habit of turning Sonja’s stomach.

“I’m looking for Brenuin,” she said. “Have you seen him?”

“Yesterday,” said Ahlam. “Came in here, puffed up in a new set of clothes. I was going to ask where he stole them from, but Danica couldn’t praise him enough. He said he had some new job lined up in Solitude, that his days in the drink were over.” She snorted. “Glad to have him out of the city, if you ask me.”

Sonja had, but wished she hadn’t had to. Whoever this culprit was, using Brenuin as go-between—she caught herself using Thaegoth’s phrase—they were either uncharacteristically grateful for a would-be murderer, or else they were still using Brenuin as part of their plot. Sonja thanked Ahlam before she could start complaining again, and hurried outside. Maybe, she thought, if Brenuin had enough gold for clothes, he might’ve had enough for a carriage-ride to get him to Solitude.

Sonja took the quieter route down to the gates, avoiding the market. Not giving the guards any excuse to talk to her, she trod quickly down to where Whiterun’s resident carriage-driver, Bjorlam, kept his post.

“Sonja, right?” he said when she hailed him. “Heading out on some Companions business?”

“Did you take Brenuin to Solitude yesterday?” she asked.

Bjorlam laughed. “Brenuin the beggar? Though I guess we gotta call him ex-beggar now. Nah, he came past here yesterday, like you say, all dressed up fancy-like. I called out to him, I did. Seemed like he could finally afford a ride. But he kept walking with his chest all sticking out. Swore at him, but he didn’t turn round. Solitude, you say? They’re welcome to him.”

“He went that way?” asked Sonja, pointing up the west road.

“Yep. Can’t see why the fool wanted to walk all the way there, but that’s his business, not mine.” Bjorlam laughed again, like he’d pulled off some sort of joke.

Sonja kept her face still, thanked him, and headed back up into Whiterun. Quickly and quietly again through the city, back to Jorrvaskr.

Once inside the Companions’ hall, she found Hrongar had departed. Nebia too, was still absent. Sonja knew she ought to do something about that, but damned if she knew how to begin to apologise. More Thaegoth’s area than anything else. Still, there was the investigation to deal with before anything else.

She passed on what she’d learned to Aela and Thaegoth. The latter was still eating, but listened closely to every word. After Sonja was finished speaking, Aela got up.

“Brenuin’s our only lead,” she said. “Lose him and we’re back to stabbing in the dark.”

“Why would he choose to walk all the way to Solitude?” asked Thaegoth. He’d managed alright from Falkreath to Whiterun, but going on how Sonja had told the story, Solitude was much further. Dangerous too, perhaps, for a traveller alone.

“Could be he’s meeting somebody,” said Sonja.

“Or he’s got a horse stashed somewhere nearby,” said Thaegoth.

“Could be he’s an idiot,” said Aela. “He didn’t take the carriage, we will. Thaegoth, you’re with me.”

There was a moment where both of them looked at Sonja. She knew that had she been in Aela’s position, she would have made the same choice. Her arm still pained her when she stretched—a bumpy carriage ride with who knew what at the end of it wouldn’t help.

“I’ll hold the fort,” she said. At least the downtime would give her a chance to think of something to say to Nebia.

Thaegoth headed for the stairs to get his armour, Aela already well ahead of him.

“No breaks in the Companions?” he said.

Aela half-turned as she descended the stairs. “Not in this life,” she said. “In the next. If you’re lucky.”


	19. Come to Collect

Sonja felt her eyelids sink lower in the hour that followed. She’d come no closer to hitting on what to say to Nebia—the Companion in question was still out the back, as far as she knew. Aela and Thaegoth were long gone on their beggar-hunt, and presumably Thorald was up at the Skyforge as usual.

But she was startled back to wakefulness by another knock at the door. This time she couldn’t farm out the job of answering it to someone else, so she groaned her way upright and over to the door.

She opened it to reveal a Dunmer in leather armour leaning on the frame, most of his right side out of sight. There was a fluidity to his stance and an easy smile on his face that Sonja immediately hated.

“Good morning,” he said. “This is the hall of the Companions, is it not?”

“It is,” said Sonja, keeping a hand on the door.

“Then I don’t suppose Thaegoth would be in, would he?” the Dunmer asked.

“Who wants to know?” asked Sonja, her eyes narrowing.

“An old friend,” he said. “He hasn’t mentioned me? How... completely like him. Still, he’s not in?”

“No,” said Sonja. Something in her screamed at her to close the door, but she held it open. A link to Thaegoth’s past, right here in front of her. A shortcut around all the vagaries and obfuscation that he offered.

But before she could ask anything, the Dunmer pushed himself away from the doorframe and revealed that the easygoing pose had been to conceal a crossbow. He levelled it at Sonja and said, “Care to change your answer?”

Sonja knew her own reaction times. Good, but not good enough to evade a crossbow bolt. Her hand tightened on the door. The Dunmer was still smiling.

“Back inside,” he said.

Sonja led go of the door and trod backwards into Jorrvaskr. The Dunmer followed her, closing the door behind him, keeping the crossbow pointed at her the whole time. Once they were inside, his red eyes flicked quickly around the hall, never away from her long enough to give her time enough to act. She backed further away, closer to the firepit.

“He did join up, though, didn’t he?” asked the Dunmer. “Hard to believe.”

“Yes,” said Sonja.

“Anybody else in the building?” he asked.

“No,” said Sonja.

The Dunmer’s eyebrows went up. “Usually people say there’s fifty armed guards in the next room, something like that,” he said.

Sonja shrugged. After the way she’d treated Nebia, she couldn’t expect her to come crashing in any time soon. And Thorald never entered Jorrvaskr itself unless under exceptional circumstances. If she wanted to deal with this intruder, she was on her own.

“This is better, actually,” he was saying. “Don’t you think? Thaegoth is such a pain to deal with, you know he’d make this all about him.”

It didn’t occur to Sonja to agree with him. “What do you want?” she asked.

He was silent for a moment, scratching at his bare chin. “How about you show me his room? Then I can be out of here without any trouble.”

“Fine,” said Sonja. She gestured towards the stairs and the Dunmer nodded. She started walking and he followed behind with the crossbow. Plenty of narrow spaces downstairs, she thought, to take the upper hand. She flexed her wounded arm and winced at the pain. Come at him with her right, then.

“Slowly,” he said.

And slowly they went, emerging into the lower part of Jorrvaskr and following the halls down to Thaegoth’s room. Sonja opened the door and the Dunmer gestured her inside. He took up position and Sonja stood in the centre of the room, observing what Thaegoth had done to the space. Cleaner than her room had ever been, that was for sure.

“Start looking,” said the Dunmer.

“For what?” she asked him.

“He’ll have kept it wrapped up. About a foot long, bulky, but light.” He waved the crossbow again. “You find it, and I’m out of here.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?” asked Sonja, crouching and flipping the lock on the chest at the foot of Thaegoth’s bed.

“Understandable,” said the Dunmer. “But we don’t kill people.”

Sonja grunted and kept searching. Nothing in the chest but spare clothes. She moved to the dresser, turning out drawers and cupboards but still finding nothing like what the Dunmer had mentioned. He appeared to have taken her silence for confusion—and she saw no reason to disillusion him.

He laughed. “He really didn’t tell you?” He shook his head as Sonja moved to the endtable. “I wish I could be here for it, really. It’ll be too good.”

“Nothing,” said Sonja, after the endtable was thoroughly searched.

The Dunmer nodded. “He must have stashed it somewhere. One of his habits. Then we’ll just have to wait.”

There was the sound of a door closing from upstairs and the Dunmer leaned back and turned his head the way they had come. Finally, a moment.

Sonja lunged forward and knocked the crossbow to the side with her left arm, feeling the pain lance up to her shoulder. She ignored it and slammed her right fist into his face. He reeled, and she slammed sideways, trapping his right arm between the doorframe and her body. The crossbow dropped from that hand and she kicked at his ankle.

His left hand was going for a dagger at his belt, so she tried to sweep his legs from under him. But he jumped back into the hall, almost hitting the door into Nebia’s room. The dagger flashed into his hand.

“I said we don’t kill people,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not good at it.”

Still acting like he had something over her. Some piece of knowledge of Thaegoth that put him at an advantage. But he’d told her enough for her to make the mental leaps herself. Which meant there was no need to keep him talking. For now, anyway.

“Good for you,” she said, and gestured for him to come at her.

He did, smiling again, and obviously sure of himself. Fast and nimble, sure, with a style that reminded her of Thaegoth. But she’d taken him down too. And brawling with Nebia had imparted its own lessons.

In two heartbeats she had crushed his wrist that held the dagger and, before hearing it clatter to the floor, had delivered two swift punches to his face. Blood sprayed from his nose and he looked to jump back again, but she held tight, kneeing him in the gut. Then she tipped her weight forward, taking him with her to the floor.

“The hell’s going on,” came Nebia’s voice.

Sonja looked up to see her fellow Companion standing above them with mace firmly in hand.

“A visitor,” said Sonja. She stood up and the Dunmer groaned. “I’m sorry about before.”

“Oh, fuck it,” said Nebia. “Worked my anger out on those dummies outside. Ain’t like either of us are flawless.” She gestured at the Dunmer.

Sonja looked over to see him trying to reach for his fallen dagger. She planted one foot on his wrist and reached down to grasp his lanky black hair. She pulled his head up, then slammed it into the floor. He went still.

“Still,” she said, standing upright again, “I should... think before I speak.”

“Why?” said Nebia. “I don’t. Look, we don’t need to have this out. I ain’t got no problem fighting alongside someone I don’t always agree with.”

“Neither do I,” said Sonja.

“Then we’re good,” said Nebia.

Sonja hesitated. Surely it couldn’t be that easy. Though Nebia had never presented herself as complicated. “Did you really mean that, about the arrow?” she asked.

“Course,” said Nebia. “We’re the Companions. Now. Who’s this arsehole?”

“Old friend of Thaegoth’s,” said Sonja. “And both of them have got some answering to do.”


	20. One Rule of Many

In the back of Bjorlam’s carriage, Aela and Thaegoth bounced towards Solitude. The sky was clear, but Thaegoth wondered how long such a journey could take them. All the way to Skyrim’s capital and back? They could be gone for days, as far as he knew. He slumped lower on the wooden seat and tried to focus on their job.

What would they do if they couldn’t find Brenuin? Back to stabbing in the dark, Aela had said. But surely there was some way to narrow down the list of suspects.

“Who could afford Brenuin’s loyalty?” he asked Aela, who was sitting across from him. “And the bandits, too.”

Aela’s arms were up on the side of the carriage and she did not take her eyes off the road as she answered. “Almost anyone up at Dragonsreach,” she said. “Battle-Borns or Gray-Manes. Priests are out though, shopkeepers too. Guards unless they’ve been saving up their bribes. Else the gold’s stolen, but that big a theft’d be the talk of the town.”

“Still too many people,” said Thaegoth.

He picked at the dirt under his nails as the silence between them drew on, listening to the sounds of the horse hooves against the road, the wheels rolling over the stones and dirt. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the noise of the trip prevented Bjorlam from listening in.

“Are you keeping Sonja and I from working together?” he asked.

Aela brought her eyes back to focus on him. “Yes,” she said.

“Why?”

She planted her elbows on her knees and leaned forward. She let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“You’ve heard about the Dragonborn being in the Companions,” she said.

No need to phrase it as a question, for the Dragonborn had more stories devoted to her than anybody else in Skyrim—though she’d been Breton by birth, that fact was often ignored by the Nords. Thaegoth nodded.

“Only that she was, then she left,” he said. If she’d been caught up in the massacre that had taken out the rest of the Companions, he’d have heard that story, he thought. And going by what else he had heard about her, the Dragonborn could have made short work of that Burned Woman who’d been responsible for the murders.

“The stories are already leaving out her name,” said Aela. “Gylhain. She joined up with us back in two hundred and one. Farkas and Ria and me were fighting a giant, down at Pelagia Farm. She comes out of nowhere, takes over the whole fight. Gets the killing blow. Farkas tried to get her to sign up right then, but she said she had something to do first. Turns out that something was killing a dragon out at the Western Watchtower.”

“Our test of arms seems kinda pointless after that,” said Thaegoth.

Aela almost smiled then. “She insisted on it,” she said. “Sonja and her got that in common, anyway.”

“All of this was before she killed Alduin?” asked Thaegoth.

Aela nodded. “She was with us for… only a few months. Seemed like we’d all been fighting alongside her forever. Then Kodlak, the old Harbinger, was killed. Gylhain led the revenge mission, helped us reforge Wuuthrad.”

“Wuuthrad?” asked Thaegoth. The name was obviously Nordic, but that was all he could guess. Another piece of Companions history he was ignorant of.

“An axe,” said Aela. “Belonged to whoever first led us.” She shook her head. “I’m not... Vilkas was always the one who knew the history.”

She was silent for a long while as the carriage bumped them along. A village came and went. Rorikstead, Aela said in a disinterested tone. Thaegoth waited for the quiet to play itself out.

“Turned out,” said Aela, “Kodlak had wanted Gylhain to be Harbinger after him. Which she was. But she’d disappear for months at a time, come back saying she’d joined the Legion. Or travelled to Sovngarde. I led the Companions, but it was years before she gave me the title.”

Thaegoth endured the next silence for a shorter span before asking, “What does this have to do with Sonja and I?”

“Gylhain and me were... involved. For a time.” Aela finally met Thaegoth’s eyes. “It ruined us as fighters. Caring about someone more than anyone else doesn’t work in a fight. We were distracted. Self-obsessed. Jorrvaskr was unbearable for the others.”

“What happened?” asked Thaegoth. Getting caught up in the past was a handy way for him to avoid the lesson he knew was coming.

“She left,” said Aela. “Adventuring around with someone else. Heard she got married. Haven’t seen her since Helgen.”

“Helgen?” said Thaegoth. The town’s name was legendary even down in Cyrodiil. “But isn’t that where she first appeared? Where the dragons returned?”

“No,” said Aela. “I mean, yeah, it was. But there was another fight there, later. You’re sidetracking me. You want to know about that fight, ask someone else.” She frowned at the bottom of the carriage. “Irileth was there.”

“She doesn’t seem one for telling tales,” said Thaegoth.

Aela flashed a grin, gone as soon as it appeared. “You know what I’m saying,” she said.

“So, not getting involved is your one rule?” asked Thaegoth.

“One rule of many,” said Aela.

Thaegoth stretched his arms, forming his counterarguments. “I understand,” he said. “But isn’t anything that strengthens the bond between the Companions a positive thing?”

“So you are interested in her,” said Aela.

“That’s not… I mean, wouldn’t continual friction and non-action be worse for us? The Companions, I mean.”

Aela shrugged. “Might be Harbinger,” she said, “but I can’t tell you where to put your cock.” Thaegoth emitted a shocked laugh. “You think you can do it without it getting in the way of the job, go ahead.”

There was another silence, more comfortable this time, and Thaegoth found himself smiling. Then, as it so often did, his past returned to his mind. He didn’t think he’d heard Aela ever talk so much, and with such honesty. It made shame rise up through his chest at his own omissions.

“There’s something I haven’t told you,” he said. “About the reason I came to Skyrim.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” said Aela.

But Thaegoth’s insistence that he did was cut off by a cry from Bjorlam, and the sudden drawing of the carriage to a halt. Aela stood up to scan the road, leaning closer to the driver.

“There’s blood on the road, there is,” said Bjorlam. “Now I’m not a squeamish man, but—”

“We’ll take a look,” said Aela. She signalled to Thaegoth and they hopped down from the carriage out the back, taking opposite sides around to the front. The scenery was not exactly the Skyrim Thaegoth had expected. An unkempt road, with scraggy grass and low scrub on both sides. To the south, spiny rocks rose from the dirt. The sky was still clear, but ahead of them on the road was indeed a large bloodstain.

Aela crouched by the red mark. Even Thaegoth could tell that it was a dangerous amount—maybe too much to lose and live. A trail of blood led off the road to the north. Aela signalled Bjorlam to wait, then put an arrow to her bow and Thaegoth did the same, following her close as she trod through the grass.

A roar came from ahead of them and suddenly there was a great cat in view, sandy-haired and with immense canines, tearing at the body of a Redguard man.

Aela snarled and loosed her arrow into the cat’s side. Thaegoth’s impacted into the beast’s neck, where it was soon joined by another from Aela. The cat gave a more gurgling roar, dropped the man, took a few halting steps towards them, then collapsed.

“Better,” said Aela, looking at Thaegoth. In truth, he couldn’t be more surprised that his arrow had landed where he’d intended. Something in his practice appeared to be sticking.

Aela approached the body and let out a low hiss as she examined him. “Not dead,” she said.

“Brenuin?” asked Thaegoth, drawing closer, gingerly stepping around the great cat’s body.

Aela nodded. “Not the type to live through this, but…”

Her eyes suddenly flicked back towards the road. The carriage was just out of sight thanks to some scrub and the roll of a hill. She tossed Thaegoth a clinking pouch that he fumbled with his bow to catch.

“Tell Bjorlam to go back,” she said. “Say we found a body and are staying to give it proper burial. We’ll head to Solitude on our own.”

Thaegoth trotted back to the carriage and passed on the message. Bjorlam’s frown cleared right up when he opened the pouch of gold. He started to turn the carriage around and Thaegoth watched him get going before hurrying back to Aela.

The Harbinger had bandaged up the worse of Brenuin’s wounds, but the man was still unconscious, bleeding, close to death. Aela swore and glanced up, scanning their surrounds.

“There’s a hut near here,” she said.

“For what?” asked Thaegoth without thinking.

“Whoever wants it,” said Aela. “Which, last time I was there, was a bunch of skeevers. Grab his legs.”

Thaegoth started, but joined Aela in heaving up Brenuin, heedless of the blood that was getting on their armour. Their movements elicited a groan from their burden, as they hurried him across the road and up a narrow path that Thaegoth wouldn’t have noticed if Aela hadn’t directed them. Soon, a tiny wooden hut appeared, clearly ancient but not full of holes as Thaegoth had expected.

Clearly Aela had expected the same, for she gestured Thaegoth to lower Brenuin to the ground and stay with him. She silently approached the door, pressed her ear to the wood for a moment, then drew back and knocked. Thaegoth kept his hand on his swordhilt and his eyes on the door. Another groan came from Brenuin.

The door opened to reveal a huge Nord with a ragged mass of blonde hair and a beard of the same. On his right cheek, extending down to his neck, was a swirling dark tattoo. Most of his body was covered by a large iron and wood shield. His eyes took all three of his guests in at a glance.

“Damn,” said Aela. “Argis the Bulwark.”

“Huntress,” said Argis, his voice low and even. “This gonna bring me trouble?”

“Can’t promise it won’t,” said Aela.

Argis grunted and looked again at Brenuin. “Come inside,” he said.

He held the door open wide as Aela and Thaegoth carried Brenuin inside. Argis directed them to deposit the wounded man on the single bed. Having done so, Thaegoth looked at the place they’d found themselves in. The hut was a single room, with a stone fireplace that flickered with still-living coals. It was a simple home, but everything on the shelves was ordered and the place showed no hint of dirt or dust.

“You do this?” asked Argis, leaning over Brenuin.

“No,” insisted Thaegoth. “It was a... a big cat.”

Argis gave him a long stare. “Sabrecats learning archery, that’s a new one,” he said.

“What?” said Thaegoth.

Argis gestured and both Aela and Thaegoth gathered to see an arrowhead buried beneath Brenuin’s collarbone. In that case, realised Thaegoth, the sabrecat must have merely been finishing the ex-beggar off, or had interrupted another killing. The killer had fled, most likely, else they would have found another body.

“He going to live?” asked Aela. Argis just shrugged. “I’ll pay you to keep him here. Get him well. If he dies, he dies.”

“I’ll do it for nothing,” said Argis.

Aela held out a fistful of gold regardless. “Get yourself some new blankets,” she said. “These ones are only going to get bloodier.”

Argis hesitated, then took the gold. “You gonna tell me what this is about?” he asked.

Aela looked at Thaegoth, who swallowed, then said, “Someone tried to kill Jarl Balgruuf’s brother. Maybe they’ve got other plans too.”

“And Brenuin here,” said Aela, “ran messages for whoever it was. So we want to talk to him.”

“That’ll do,” said Argis. “There gonna be people looking to finish the job?”

“Maybe,” said Aela. “But they won’t hear about you from us.”

“Best I can ask for,” said Argis. “Sword’s still sharp, in case.”

“Good to hear it,” said Aela. “And thanks.”

Argis nodded. “Now give me some room here,” he said.

Aela nudged Thaegoth towards the door. When he was half-out, she turned back and said, “Someone comes who ain’t with one of us, he ain’t here.”

“Course,” said Argis.

Aela closed the door of the hut behind them. It wasn’t until they were back on the main road that Thaegoth noticed just how much blood had gotten on them.

“You knew him?” he asked.

“The Bulwark,” said Aela. “Markarth man. Helped Gylhain take out the Forsworn, years ago. Made a lot of enemies out that way. Disappeared. Always thought one of them got to him.”

“Pretty lucky running into him,” said Thaegoth.

“This’s Skyrim,” said Aela. “Spend enough years here, sooner or later you run into everyone who’s worth knowing, and everyone who ain’t.”


	21. Interrogations

Nebia, it turned out, was good at knots. As she tied the Dunmer to a chair in the downstairs hallway of Jorrvaskr, Thorald—who’d been summoned in as backup—tried to get Sonja to go back to the healers. She refused, and was glad when the intruder regained consciousness so she could latch onto the distraction. His red eyes opened and he tugged at his bonds. Slowly his expression relaxed into a smile.

“How do you know Thaegoth?” asked Sonja.

“Oh, we go way back,” said the Dunmer.

“In the Thieves Guild,” said Sonja.

“What?” said Thorald.

“Oh, I knew that bastard was too sly,” said Nebia.

“So he did tell you,” said the Dunmer, looking vaguely disappointed. He smiled again. “So you’re already up to the sharing intimate secrets stage of your relationship, hmm?”

“No,” said Sonja, folding her arms and feeling taller. “I worked it out.”

It hadn’t been that hard. All the talk of criminal behaviour, the disrespect for the process of law, the knowledge of the shadowmarks, his odd fighting style—really, Sonja was amazed she hadn’t put it together sooner.

“You’ve hit the bullseye,” said the Dunmer. “I am a representative of the Cyrodiilic Thieves Guild, just as Thaegoth is an ex-representative.”

“Oh, you can tell they know each other,” said Nebia. “Fucking palace words.”

“What do you mean, ‘ex-’,” said Sonja.

“You haven’t worked everything out, then,” said the Dunmer.

“Answer the question,” said Sonja. She kept her expression unmoving. Let her inner cold take over. Let her rage at being lied to seep through her bones.

“Yeah,” said Nebia, “or we’ll start breaking things.”

“More things,” said the Dunmer. “Some of my teeth are feeling pretty loose.” He worked his tongue around his mouth and grinned bloodily up at Sonja. “Thaegoth broke the first rule,” he said.

“He killed someone?” asked Sonja, remembering what their now-captive had said about them not doing that, just before he’d tried to do exactly that to her.

“Worse,” said the Dunmer. “He stole from the Guild.”

“Ain’t that a little, uh, hypocritical?” said Thorald.

Nebia snorted. “Buncha thieves getting all worked up bout thievery, yeah,” she said. “What’d he steal?”

The Dunmer straightened as much as he could in his current position. “None of your concern,” he said.

“Thaegoth’s one of us,” said Sonja, but the rest of her spiel was cut off by Nebia.

“You do any reading up fore you came crashing in here?”

“The Companions,” said the Dunmer. “We have something like you in Cyrodiil: the Fighters Guild. I have to say, you look even less impressive than they do.”

“Not even close,” said Thorald, almost spitting. “Jumped-up mercenaries. No history, no honour.”

The Dunmer’s eyebrows went up. “The two are not intrinsically linked, you know,” he said.

“Thaegoth’s one of us,” repeated Sonja, firmer this time. The more she said it, she thought, she firmer it would stick in her mind. She’d seen him lunge at the troll when she fell. “If something concerns one of us,” she said, “then it concerns all of us.”

“That must get exhausting,” said the Dunmer. He grinned. “Sounds nice, but I know Thaegoth. He’s just using your relic of a hall here as a place to lay low for a while. Then he’ll leave you behind. He’s very good at that.”

“That might have been true,” started Thorald, but the Dunmer cut him off.

“It is true,” he said. “Thaegoth’s the real deal. Criminal blood pumping through his veins. A good thief, though don’t tell him I said so. Bit flashy, really. But ruthless. Once we were fleeing a job gone south and he tripped me, left me for the guards while he leapt away with the loot. Not to mention the credit.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Sonja.

The Dunmer tried to shrug, though his bindings prevented him. From above, there was the sound of a door opening and closing.

“Oh, this’ll be interesting,” he said.

“You know,” said Nebia, “you really oughta be more scared. This lot might preach the honour shit, but it ain’t quite rubbed off on me yet. You try and do some fancy thief snake shit on those ropes and I’ll crack your knees into bits.”

The Dunmer was frowning, about to say something to her, when the upstairs door opened and both Aela and Thaegoth entered, their armour stained with blood. Sonja’s heart lurched in her chest at the sight—though at the same time she wished she could hit him. Aela didn’t seem particularly surprised at finding a bound Dunmer in the hall of their living quarters, but Thaegoth stopped in his tracks.

“Ilubaen,” he said.

“Family names, really,” said the Dunmer. “After all this time. I’m certainly not using that ridiculous one you gave yourself.” He looked at the others. “My name is Mirath.”

“This is who they sent?” Aela asked Thaegoth. He nodded.

“You told her?” asked Sonja, advancing a few steps.

“On the way back,” said Thaegoth. “I was going to tell you, all of you, as soon as we got here. I owe you all the truth.”

Aela made a sound that could’ve been a laugh. “Guess I did tell you your past wasn’t important here,” she said.

Thaegoth shrugged. “I never thought they’d find me here,” he said.

“It is out of character, I’ll give you that,” said Mirath.

“Maybe I’m a different character now,” said Thaegoth.

“That’s beautiful,” said Mirath. He flicked his head towards Sonja. “I made your paramour here search your room, but it wasn’t there.”

“She’s not—you made her?” asked Thaegoth. He had a hard time believing anybody could make Sonja do anything. He felt his cheeks going red and tried to calm himself, without success.

“He had a crossbow,” said Nebia, holding up the weapon in question.

“Are you alright?” asked Thaegoth.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” said Mirath. “Though a few of my teeth are a bit wobbly.”

Thaegoth glared at him and looked back at Sonja.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Angry but alive,” said Nebia. Both Thaegoth and Sonja looked at her. “What? It’s like, my life-thing. Idea. With the arch over the top.”

“Philosophy,” said Thaegoth and Mirath, almost at the same time. Sonja wanted to hit both of them then. Her eyes caught the blood on Thaegoth’s armour and she remembered where he and Aela had been.

“Did you find—”

“Later,” said Aela.

“I’ll admit I’m intrigued,” said Mirath. “But the Guild takes precedence over... whatever this is. Give back what you took, and I’ll say I dropped your body in a lake. You know, for old time’s sake. You’ll never hear from me again.”

“And we’ll just believe that, huh?” asked Nebia.

“He won’t kill you,” said Thaegoth. “It’s the second rule of the Guild.”

“He’ll just kill you,” said Sonja.

Thaegoth took a step back. The Guild never valued him for anything other than his abilities. As for who he actually was, as a person, they didn’t care. If he’d not come back from a job, someone else would have filled his place. Mirath, or someone like him. But in Jorrvaskr, he realised, looking at Sonja, he would be missed.

“What’d you take?” asked Nebia.

“It’s not important,” said Thaegoth.

“It most definitely is,” said Mirath. “One of the most storied artifacts of the Guild, dating from the previous era. Carried by the Grey Wolf himself.”

“That’s not true,” said Thaegoth. He shook his head. “Or at least, we don’t know it’s true.” He looked at the others. “The Boots of Springheel Jak,” he said. “They give their wearer unparalleled speed and agility.”

“Just the sort of thing for a bunch of thieves,” said Thorald.

“Convenient to steal,” said Mirath, “for they allow you to make a quick getaway.”

“I never put them on,” said Thaegoth. Mirath’s eyebrows went up and for a moment Sonja was impressed with Thaegoth’s restraint. Until he added, “They were too big. Springheel Jak must’ve been huge.”

“We needed them,” insisted Mirath. He paused and looked around at the faces of the Companions. “The Guild has had... recent troubles with corruption. Your own local guild was kind enough to step in and aid us with the worst of it. But we are recovering.”

“You are not,” said Thaegoth, and both he and Sonja were pleased with the absence of ‘we’ from his words. “You’re slipping back into old ways. Too many thieves, too much power. Nothing’s changed. Sooner or later you’ll need another purge.”

“Sounds like Cyrodiil ain’t so different,” said Thorald. At that moment, there was a heavy, rushed knocking at one of the exterior doors above. “I’ll go,” he added, and vanished in his slow gait upstairs.

“Little battered for a Companion, isn’t he?” asked Mirath.

Sonja did hit him then, and caught Thaegoth smiling at her.

When Thorald came back downstairs he was even shakier than usual. He leaned back against the wall and took a few deep breaths before saying, “Balgruuf’s dead.”


	22. Greased Palms

The funeral was put on hold. Sonja heard later that the shouting matches between Hrongar, Nelkir, and Proventus had echoed through the great hall of Dragonsreach. Eventually, word reached Jorrvaskr that another, final message was being sent to Dagny in the Imperial City. She hadn’t come for Frothar’s funeral, or her father’s sickness, but it was hoped she’d put in an appearance for Balgruuf’s last official rite.

When the news came through, Aela took Sonja aside.

“I want you to shadow the messenger,” said the Harbinger. “Quietly.”

“You think this message won’t get through either,” said Sonja.

Aela shook her head. “I remember Dagny as a kid,” she said. “A brat, sure, but her brother’s death? She wouldn’t have missed that. Something’s going on.”

“That’s a long trip,” said Sonja. The thought of being away from Jorrvaskr for so long, when so much was happening, made something strain inside her.

“Go as far as the Imperial City if you have to,” said Aela. “And take Nebia.”

“What about Mirath?” asked Sonja.

Aela snorted. “You took him down with a busted hand and no weapon,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

The messenger had already set off, so Sonja and Nebia moved fast, ducking out of Jorrvaskr without goodbyes. Armed and armoured, they moved at a swift walk out of Whiterun. Nebia complained about the pace, arguing that they knew the route their quarry would take and therefore didn’t need to hurry. Sonja responded that something could be happening on the messenger’s route to upset the delivery, and they needed to observe as much of it as possible.

Either way, they first caught sight of the messenger south of Riverwood. He travelled alone, in simple clothes, unarmed and seemingly without fear. He was also possessed of incredible stamina. Not once did his pace slacken or slow. Many times Sonja was forced to concede to Nebia and allow them to take a rest, putting on an extra burst of speed to catch up after they had recovered.

“What happens if he sees us?” asked Nebia, at one of these rests, past Falkreath.

“We say we’re on a Companions job nearby,” said Sonja. “Vampires or something.”

“The Dawnguard killed all the vampires,” said Nebia. “Well, most of em. Bound to be some lurking about, all secret-like.”

“Bandits, then,” said Sonja. “It doesn’t matter.”

“We do breed like rabbits,” said Nebia, grinning. Her face suddenly growing serious, she added, “And it do matter. You sneak like a giant wearing a coat made of wind chimes.”

“I can be quiet,” said Sonja, leaning away, dusting her hands.

Nebia snorted. “Well you’d best learn quick,” she said. “Not far til the border now. Less trees to hide your blundering arse.”

On they went. Again they sighted the messenger as the road rose through the Jerall Mountains that separated Skyrim from Cyrodiil. The air grew colder and the path grew steeper. Although there was less vegetation, the crags of rock bordering the road allowed them plenty of places to conceal themselves. Still, the messenger’s stamina and lack of armour allowed him to draw ahead, much to Sonja’s annoyance.

Eventually they reached an altitude where snow rested in thin layers across the rocks, and Sonja tasted something in the air that heralded more to fall soon. The road cut back and forth, finding the most efficient way through the mountains that rose to the sky on each side.

Sonja was just about to turn a corner when Nebia dragged her back behind a spur of rock. When she looked at her with anger and confusion, Nebia just hissed for quiet and edged away, sneaking a look further down the road.

“Talking to some Imperials,” she whispered.

“Legion?” asked Sonja, in a voice apparently still too loud, for Nebia hissed again before nodding. Nebia took another look, then ducked back.

“Boulder to the right,” she said. “Should be able to hear from there. Move quietly.”

Sonja had no time to protest, for Nebia was away. Her feet giving off almost no sound, she darted diagonally across the road and tucked herself behind a large boulder leaning against the west side of the pass, no doubt a relic from a long-ago rockfall. Sonja took a few shallow breaths, then hurried after her colleague.

On the way across, she could indeed see the messenger engaged in conversation with a trio of Imperial Legionnaires. Halfway there, her shield banged against her greave and she froze. None of their quarries looked around, however, and after much hurried gestures from Nebia, Sonja made it across.

“Here,” mouthed Nebia, leading Sonja to the gap between the boulder and the wall of the pass. A small crack, with barely enough room for them both, allowed them to see the conversation that followed as well as hear it.

“All the same,” one of the Imperials was saying, “I need to search your bags, don’t I? Matter of course if you’re travelling through these parts. Illegal goods abound, don’t you know?”

“But I’ve been through here before,” said the messenger, “and never had any trouble like this.”

“Ah, but times are changing, aren’t they?” said the Imperial. “Never can be too careful. Now, why don’t you open up that satchel of yours? If there’s nothing to hide then there’s nothing to fear, is there?”

The messenger hesitated for a moment, then wilted and handed over their satchel. Sonja tried to gauge her and Nebia’s chances in taking on all three Legionnaires. The trio were armed and armoured as scouts, with bows and short swords. Probably her own sword and Nebia’s mace could crack their armour—but their foes would be faster, and Sonja hoped it wouldn’t come to a fight.

One of the scouts—not the one who’d been speaking—rummaged roughly through the satchel, looking at the names on the messages. Their hand alighted on one in particular, which they then handed over to the man who seemed to be their superior. This scout then examined the message and tucked it into a pocket of their armour.

The messenger opened their mouth to object, but was cut off as one of the scouts threw the satchel back. The messenger caught it heavily, and only just managed to catch the follow-up: a small clinking pouch.

“Figures,” breathed Nebia.

“More what you’ll make on this whole trip, isn’t that right?” said the head scout. “And if anyone asks, someone stole that letter out of your pack when you stopped for a drink.”

“But,” said the messenger, before being cut off again.

“And you didn’t see us,” said the head scout. “Are we clear?”

The messenger was silent. One of the other scouts dropped their hand to their swordhilt.

“Are we clear?” repeated the head scout.

“Yes,” murmured the messenger, almost too quiet for Sonja to hear.

The head scout grunted something that could have been satisfaction, then gestured to his two followers. Abruptly they disappeared to the right, down a side passage in the rock—the entrance to which was invisible from Sonja and Nebia’s current position. The messenger stood for a moment, then jogged southwards along the pass, no doubt eager to put as much distance between themself and the scouts as possible.

“Always gold,” said Nebia, when the pair had moved themselves away from the cleft in the rock. “The shit are we supposed to do now?”

“I would’ve thought the Legion...” Sonja started to say.

“Would be what? Not into bribery?” asked Nebia. “Yeah, this’s happnin all over Skyrim every damn day. Done it myself once or twice. Hey, if it saves your skin,” she added, in response to Sonja’s glare.

“Just because it happens all over, doesn’t make it right,” said Sonja. She took a moment to calm herself. “Now we know why the messages haven’t been getting through to Dagny,” she said.

“So we’re gonna beat them up and get it back,” said Nebia. She straightened and took a few steps towards the edge of the boulder they were still standing behind.

“No,” said Sonja, trying to think what Aela would do in this situation. “We’re Companions, we can’t get into fights with the Legion.”

“What, then?” asked Nebia.

Even if the letter was retrieved and returned by force or stealth or guile, thought Sonja, there was no guarantee the messenger, after such a weak protest here, wouldn’t do the same again further down the trail. Or maybe they would actually have it stolen from them, or lose it, or any number of other things.

“We’ll take the message to Dagny,” said Sonja.

“To the Imperial City?” said Nebia. “Fuck, you’re on your own with that.”

“Have you ever been out of Skyrim?” asked Sonja.

“No,” said Nebia, “and I ain’t about to start now. You know Aela and Thaegoth aren’t gonna be happy.”

“Fine,” said Sonja. “But Dagny needs to know that her father’s dead.”

“And I’ve heard enough stories bout Nelkir to know I don’t want him anywhere near that throne,” said Nebia.

Sonja paused. “And Thaegoth’ll just have to cope without seeing me.”

Nebia grinned wide. “I’ll break it to him, let you know what his face looks like,” she said.

Sonja nodded, finding herself unwilling to make the first step despite all her logic telling her this was the only way. She clenched her fists and headed south. She hadn’t made it three steps before she turned back with another thought.

Which was cut off as Nebia pulled her into a hug. Tight, but over before Sonja could truly recognise that it was happening.

“Don’t let em turn your words all fancy down there,” said Nebia.

Sonja smiled. “I won’t,” she said. “I was going to say, see if you can get that scout’s name.” Nebia grinned and reached for her mace, so Sonja added, “Without blood. Pretend to be a traveller or something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Nebia. “Now get going.” Sonja opened her mouth for a farewell, but Nebia said, “Goodbyes are for kids. Go.”

Sonja went. She turned and picked up the pace through the snow. She inhaled deeply as the first few flakes drifted down onto her path. She kept walking, southwards, into Cyrodiil.


	23. Waiting

“And you just let her go?” demanded Thaegoth. The grin on Nebia’s face wasn’t making it any easier for him to keep his cool.

“You ever tried to stop her doing anythin?” she asked. “Relax, Thaegy, she’s gettin shit done. We need Dagny, right? Any of us can do this, it’s Sonja.”

“Or me,” said Thaegoth. “Because I’ve been there before. You can’t just run around making decisions like this on your own.”

Aela, who had been silent up to that point, leaned forward in her chair. The hall of Jorrvaskr was empty but for them—Mirath still restrained downstairs, under the careful eye of Thorald.

“She can,” said Aela. “That’s how the Companions work. You want to run after her, go ahead.”

Thaegoth knew he could do it. Just like his run north, only in reverse. He knew the terrain. He pictured, for a moment, showing Sonja the sights of the Imperial City. The wide columns and comforting branches of the Arboretum. The chaotic bustle of the Talos Plaza. The rows of gathered birds down at the docks.

“But that’d be a stupid fuckin idea,” said Nebia.

Aela snorted. “Yes,” she said.

“She’s on unfamiliar territory,” insisted Thaegoth, feeling the Arboretum’s branches slip away from him. “And her arm’s not healed fully yet. And she’s on a mission that’s not ours to do.”

“You’ve met Nelkir,” said Nebia. “Wanna try that last bit again?”

“And you’ve fought Sonja,” said Aela.

Thaegoth stood up, his face flushing into red. Nothing there he could disagree with, but also nothing there to be happy about. Although there was a flashing memory of Sonja knocking him to the ground—

“I’m going out,” he said, heading for the doors on the town side of the hall.

“Try not to stab anyone,” Nebia called after him.

Thaegoth ignored her. The air of Whiterun was cold as he closed the door behind him and the town seemed emptier than usual. What point was there in wandering around this place? Though there were many by now in town who recognised him by sight or name, everything outside Jorrvaskr still had the smell of the unfamiliar to him.

Still, he moved his feet. Anything would be better than sitting around in Jorrvaskr, waiting for news, thinking over every moment he and Sonja had spent together. All the stupid inadequate things he’d said.

Thaegoth was edged back to reality at the sight of Irileth sitting on one of the benches under the Gildergreen. The ex-housecarl of the late Jarl Balgruuf was alone. No job to do, Thaegoth realised. He greeted her and it took her a while to look up and meet his eyes.

“How are things up at Dragonsreach?” he asked her. A moment later, he cursed himself. More than likely she’d come down here to escape the place just as he’d sought to escape Jorrvaskr. He was apologising when Irileth stood up and spoke over him.

“Come with me,” she said.

Thaegoth wondered if there was any point in objecting, but found he was already following Irileth around the great tree and through the city. It wasn’t long before he realised she was leading him towards the Hall of the Dead—a place he’d so far successfully managed not to enter during his time in Whiterun.

Inside, the body of Jarl Balgruuf was laid out on a slab, tended to by various priests, but Irileth didn’t look at it. Thaegoth had less self-control, and found his gaze lingering on the worn lines of the Jarl’s face. Even in death, weariness had not left the man. Thaegoth hurried on after Irileth, who was holding open a door for him. Together, they descended some candlelit stairs into the basement catacombs.

At the base of the stairs, she gestured at him to wait. He did, as Irileth vanished around a corner, one hand on the grip of her sword. Thaegoth waited, trying not to look at the recesses hosting coffins of various ages. Some looked to have been there for a century at the very least.

When Irileth reappeared, Thaegoth jumped, then tried to act like he was stretching.

“Dragonsreach is a spider’s nest,” said Irileth. “Can’t get a moment’s peace.”

“I’m sorry,” began Thaegoth again, before he was cut off.

“Don’t be.” She shook her head. “Hrongar’s broken. Proventus is failing at running everything. Nelkir’s pushing for the funeral before Dagny gets here—if she gets here. And I’m gods-damned useless.”

There was silence between them. Thaegoth didn’t feel he knew Irileth well enough to offer consolation. Was there someone else around who could? She and Aela seemed to know each other. Something else occurred to him.

“Why bring me down here?” he asked. None of what she’d said seemed cause enough.

Irileth paused for a moment.

“I think Balgruuf was murdered,” she said. Her voice cracked as she added, “And I was the one who was supposed to protect him...”

“By who?” asked Thaegoth, feeling his skin itch at the emotion on display.

“I don’t know.”

“How?” asked Thaegoth.

“I don’t know.”

“Then—”

“Look, I said—”

Irileth cut herself off that time. She took a deep breath, clenched her fists, and tried again.

“I know I have no proof,” she said. “I know he was dying anyway. But he was the same, had been for months. But... towards the end he got weaker, thinner. His voice lost its, you know.”

Thaegoth nodded. He’d only been around Balgruuf for a brief time, but it was enough to get a sense of the commanding force contained in the man’s throat. Without that, he would not be Balgruuf.

“It seemed unnatural,” said Irileth. “It got so bad so quick. I couldn’t hear what he was trying to say to me.” She looked away into the dimness of the catacombs. “Man deserved to have his last words heard, and I couldn’t even do that.”

There was another silence between them. Thaegoth looked away for what he thought was an appropriate time. There were no tears in Irileth’s eyes when he looked back, but her posture sagged and her blinks took a very long time.

“What can we do?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Irileth. “Wait. Keep it to yourself.”

Thaegoth nodded. “Sonja went to make sure Dagny gets here,” he said.

Irileth looked back at him then. “On her own?” Thaegoth nodded again, and there must have been something telling in his face, for Irileth almost smiled. “More of a hammer than a scalpel, that one,” Irileth added. “But she’ll be fine.”

Thaegoth made a noise like he agreed, hoping it would convince him too. Irileth frowned and spoke again.

“Thought you were sticking out of politics,” she said. She shook her head. “Ah, better to have you in. You’ve met Nelkir.”

“Briefly,” said Thaegoth, annoyed at the repetition of that phrase. The youth hadn’t made a favourable impression, but... “Would he really be so bad on the throne?”

Irileth made a dry noise that could have been a laugh. “He’d be a disaster for all of us.”


	24. The Absent Heir

Sonja headed south. Five days of dozing off in the backs of carriages and wagons, then jolting awake again thanks to the cracks and bumps of the road. Though the closer to the Imperial City she got, the less frequent those bumps became. A finally unbroken stretch of sleep, and the final merchant who’d been kind enough to give her a ride was shaking her awake.

A sound surrounded her, like nothing she’d ever heard before. Innumerable voices blurred into one, feet stamping against stone, birds calling in the sky, all unintelligible. Sonja worked her fingers in her ears, convinced there was something wrong with her head. Some holdover from a half-remembered dream of fire in Markarth. But the sound didn’t clear. With shallow breaths she took in the people of every description swarming across the bridge, the murky waters below, and finally, the unmissable tower dominating over it all.

When she remembered to close her mouth, she looked around for the merchant in order to thank him. But he was arguing with a guard, his arms flailing in the air above him, so Sonja turned, and headed into the Imperial City.

It didn’t take long for her to realise she had no idea what she was doing. In amongst the bustle of the markets, there was nobody who could spare a moment to help her. Her questions were met with incomprehension, accidental or deliberate temporary deafness, or outright hostility. One storeholder threatened to bang her head in with a clay pot if she didn’t get out of the way of the paying customers.

She drifted north, eyes scanning the thinning crowds, hoping against hope that Dagny would simply emerge from the mass of figures and they could bolt right back out the gate and back to Skyrim. She’d been doing this for a time when she realised she didn’t even have a solid idea of what Dagny looked like. Gone since before Sonja had arrived in Whiterun, Balgruuf’s heir would now be into adulthood, not much younger than Sonja herself. She imagined Thaegoth being annoyed at her for going without him, and without telling him. It took a block or two before she remembered to be annoyed at him right back.

Ambling without direction, her feet heavier than ever, Sonja halted as a hooded figure emerged from an alley to her left. She dropped her hand to her sword but the figure just popped its hood back, revealing a slim Dunmer woman, her features relaxed and curious.

“What do you want?” asked Sonja, when the Dunmer said nothing.

“What are you looking for?” asked the Dunmer. Sonja opened her mouth object, but the Dunmer cut her off. “I’ve been watching you. Just in from Skyrim. You’ve got no idea who to talk to.”

“And it’s you, is it?” asked Sonja.

The Dunmer shrugged. “Could point you in the right direction,” she said.

Sonja folded her arms. “What do you want in exchange?”

A faint smile crept onto the Dunmer’s face. “Missed the Nords’ direct approach,” she said. She looked in both directions and took a few steps closer. “I’ll do it for nothing. Could be I’ve got a fondness for Skyrim.”

Sonja hesitated, then sighed. There weren’t any other options presenting themselves. “I’m looking for a woman named Dagny. She’s the daughter of Jarl Balgruuf.”

“Balgruuf’s still grumbling along,” said the Dunmer, shaking her head.

Sonja paused—the Dunmer was obviously somewhat familiar with Skyrim, but to what extent, and in what capacity, was unclear. She was getting a decidedly unlawful impression from her, however.

“Balgruuf’s dead,” said Sonja.

The Dunmer’s eyebrows went up. “Wasn’t there another heir? A boy?”

“Dead too,” said Sonja.

The Dunmer nodded. “I’m Karliah,” she said. “Come on.”

She headed further north without waiting, and Sonja had to jog to catch up with her long silent strides. Sonja didn’t know what she’d expected from Karliah’s name—there was no recognition there, but that didn’t mean anything. Really, Sonja was only familiar with Markarth and Whiterun, and the former was always fading into less and less in her mind.

“You know where Dagny is?” she asked, as they passed through another gate in another high wall. They emerged into a much quieter, much fancier district, with narrower streets and tall houses with boundaries of flowers and greenery.

“If she’s here, it’s nearby,” said Karliah. She halted, and Sonja followed her gaze to a guard lazing against a low wall ahead, his eyes barely open. “Wait here,” added the Dunmer, who trotted forward. Sonja watched as Karliah’s footsteps did not rouse the guard, but the jingle of a coin purse did. Low words and the pouch were exchanged and Sonja’s lips curled into a snarl. If this was how business was done in the Empire, then she almost wished the Stormcloaks had gotten further than they did.

When Karliah loped back, Sonja’s spat out the words, “You’re with the Guild, then.”

Karliah smiled. “I didn’t think I was that obvious.” She along a street cutting off at a right angle. “Dagny’s staying in the fourth house up there.” She turned to walk away, but something in Sonja made her call out.

“Do you know Thaegoth?”

Karliah turned, a question on her face.

“He was in the Guild, here,” said Sonja.

Karliah shrugged. “There are so many thieves,” she said. “I was going back to Skyrim soon, just to get some room to breathe.”

“The Guild there’s getting large too,” said Sonja.

“I’ll do something about that,” said Karliah. She moved to leave again but saw the dissatisfaction on Sonja’s face.

“Thaegoth, he stole some... boots?”

“Oh, that one,” said Karliah. “Some of the Guild called for his head, but really... we don’t care about him, as long as he’s not here. We just want the boots back.”

Sonja remembered Mirath’s talk of rules—though it was still a surprise to her that an organisation like the Thieves Guild could even have rules. But there would be no home for Thaegoth in Cyrodiil, even if he did return what was stolen.

“I’m not sure,” she said, “if he’s trying to redeem himself, or—”

“You Companions?” asked Karliah.

“How’d you—”

“Nobody else’d care about Whiterun so much. Fine enough group if you’re looking for redemption, so I hear.”

Sonja nodded, more hoping it would be true. On a whim, she said, “I’ll try and convince him to give the boots back.” Afterwards, she couldn’t think of why she’d said that. A promise, to a thief she’d only just met? Though Thaegoth was a thief too, and she’d trusted him with her life in the fight at Valtheim Towers, and beyond.

Karliah seemed amused as she said, “If you can’t, we’ll just steal them back.” She turned and was definitely gone then, vanished into the nearest shadow before Sonja could say anything more. Sonja trod slowly, thoughtfully, towards the house that had been pointed out to her. Strange to be in such a familiar silence after the heady noise of the market, she thought, and wondered why it didn’t bring calm to her bones.

Her knock on the door was answered by a large Redguard man in plain black clothes. His hair and beard were close-shaven, and his face was impassive. He said nothing and Sonja fumbled for what she ought to say, paralysed that Karliah had sent her to the wrong house, that Sonja had misheard her, gotten lost again in the tall-sided streets.

“I’m looking for Dagny,” she managed to say. The Redguard said nothing, so Sonja added, “Tell her I bring news from home.”

The Redguard stepped aside, and Sonja came into a large entry hall, tiled with black and grey in a patchwork pattern, heavy wooden doors all around, and a staircase rising up to the right.

“Wait,” said the Redguard, in a deep even voice. He moved with surprising silence up the stairs and vanished.

Sonja waited. She shifted her weight from one foot to another, afraid to move any further without cracking the tiles. Muffled voices came from above, then hurried footsteps. Soon a slim woman with short brown hair was almost running down the stairs, pausing on the landing to take stock of Sonja.

“I haven’t heard from home in forever,” said Dagny. “But you don’t look like a messenger.”

Something flickered through Sonja’s brain. “How long has it been since you’ve heard from Whiterun?” she asked.

Dagny’s eyes flicked to the Redguard, who had descended to wait just a few steps above her. “Close to a year,” she said.

Some of the strength went out of Sonja. She held out a hand to the wall to support herself and couldn’t look at Dagny. She wished to be anywhere else but there. Back in the bumping wagon, back lost in the market, back in Jorrvaskr with Nebia and Aela and Thorald and Thaegoth.

“My name’s Sonja,” she said. “I’m with the Companions. And I wish you could hear this from someone you knew, and I’m sorry. Your brother and father are dead.”

Dagny looked at Sonja for a moment in silence, then sat down heavily on the step at the bottom of the landing. The Redguard descended to loom behind her. Then he dropped slowly to a crouch, and laid a hand on Dagny’s shoulder. Sonja had him measured as just a bodyguard, but now she wasn’t so sure. Suddenly Dagny looked up, her eyes watery but not leaking.

“Which brother?” she asked.

“Frothar,” said Sonja.

Dagny tugged at her hair as if she expected it to be longer. “How did it happen?” she asked.

Sonja hesitated, remembering the stories she’d been told about Frothar. She’d been in Whiterun then, and the accident was all anybody had talked about for weeks.

“He fell from his horse,” she said. “Your father got worse after that. He was...”

“He was old,” said Dagny. “Still. I was sure there was… time, somehow.”

“Why did we not hear?” asked the Redguard.

Sonja looked away. “Someone’s been bribing the guards at the border to stop anything addressed to you from getting through,” she said. “We only found out a few days ago.”

“Gods,” said Dagny, “everybody back home, they must think I’m...” She stood up. “We have to leave. Now. Charos, please tell our host I won’t be able to join her for dinner.” The Redguard—Sonja grateful to have a name to put to him—nodded and headed upstairs. Dagny met Sonja’s eyes. “You’re coming with us?”

Sonja inclined her head. “I will see you safely to Whiterun, my lady,” she said.

Dagny tugged at her hair again, then abruptly stopped and straightened. There was something firm in her bearing that made Sonja think for a moment that Whiterun could just possibly be fine in such hands.

“We are honoured to have a Companion with us,” said Dagny. She hesitated. “I know you have suffered tragedies of your own.”

“We have,” said Sonja. “But we are rebuilding.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said Dagny. “Please, if you will wait, we will be down shortly.” Her bearing dropped and a snarl came across her face. “Hopefully we can get there before my remaining brother does something chronically stupid.”


	25. Second Shadow

“You’re turning him loose?” asked Thaegoth.

“We’re not the law in this town,” said Aela, untying the bonds that held Mirath. He was grinning unbearably up at Thaegoth. “Sooner or later he’ll get loose, or someone will discover him. Trouble we don’t need.”

She straightened and looked Thaegoth in the eye. “Far as I’m concerned,” she continued, “this is your mess. You want to clean it up, go ahead.”

“Feel like going together and explaining all this to the guards?” asked Mirath.

“You wouldn’t,” said Thaegoth, taking a step back. At least some of the people in Whiterun seemed to like him and he felt a flush through his chest at ruining that again, having to flee to another town. He liked being able to walk into a tavern, into the marketplace, and be known for something that wasn’t criminal.

“You’re quite right,” said Mirath. “I’m sticking with you. Until you show me where you stashed those boots, I’ll be your second shadow.”

“It’ll have to be a long shadow,” said Aela, drawing her knife. “Because you don’t get another heartbeat in Jorrvaskr, unless you want to see all the skills I didn’t teach Sonja.”

Mirath, rubbing his wrists in what Thaegoth was sure was affectation, stood up. “Tempting,” he said. “But I think I’ll take a room at... the Bannered Mare, I believe it’s called? This town is more charming by the very hour.”

“Go,” said Thaegoth. Mirath started moving for the stairs. Both Thaegoth and Aela followed him up and towards the front doors. The dark elf thief pushed one door open into the sun of Whiterun and turned back. Aela still had her knife in her hand, and Nebia, who’d been clearing the table in the main hall, had come closer.

“Maybe I’ll get in touch with the local Guild,” said Mirath. “I hear they’ve expanded to heights even close to ours.”

“Yours,” said Thaegoth, looking quickly at Aela and Nebia.

Mirath shrugged. “By the way, you know there’s a ‘danger’ shadowmark next to your door?” He stepped lightly away, leaving the door open. He had vanished into the town before any of the Companions said anything. Thaegoth looked at the others to see expectant faces.

“I was going to bring it up eventually,” he said. “It’s a compliment, really.”

“The Guild’s scared of us,” said Nebia, laughing. “If the rest of em are anything like that scrawny bastard, I can see why.”

Whether Mirath was actually scared of Aela, Thaegoth couldn’t tell. But his old colleague never came past the outer wall of Jorrvaskr from then on. Instead, every time he came outside, Mirath would be waiting, leaning on the stone. He would smile and give a friendly greeting, day or night. And if Thaegoth went into town, Mirath would shadow him, asking every now and then, but not incessantly, when he was going to take him to where the Boots of Springheel Jak were stashed.

No matter whether Thaegoth treated him with anger or respect, attempted to politely ask him to leave or ignored him outright, Mirath still maintained the same attitude, the same line of inquiry.

“You know if Sonja were here,” said Nebia when she learned of this, “it wouldn’t go on another moment.” She seemed to find the whole thing amusing, which in turn further irritated Thaegoth and pleased Mirath.

All it took was Mirath making innuendo in the market for Thaegoth to crack. Later, he was furious with himself for being read so easily. There probably wasn’t anyone else in Skyrim who knew just how to push him over the edge.

Thaegoth spun, the Companions’ shopping still in his hands. There was a long moment, where Mirath’s eyebrows went up and a silence fell over the market, stall holders and shoppers alike pausing in case of coming violence. A nearby guard dropped their hand to their sword. Thaegoth remembered Sonja, and shook his head.

“Come on,” he said.

“I was planning to,” said Mirath.

Thaegoth paid for his goods, then strode up back to Jorrvaskr. As always, Mirath stopped at the wall but Thaegoth gestured him on.

“Wait for me around back,” he said. Without looking to see if his instruction was being followed, Thaegoth stormed inside, dumped the supplies, and kept walking out the back doors. Aela was there in the training yard, putting arrows into the centre of a target. She stopped when she saw the expression on his face. She had her mouth open in a question when Mirath edged around Jorrvaskr.

“I thought I told you,” she began.

“I’m finishing it,” said Thaegoth.

Aela lowered her bow and stepped back, leaving the space between the porch and the targets open for sparring. Thaegoth yanked two wooden practice swords off the rack and tossed one to Mirath. The dark elf caught it in one hand without blinking, but gave a cynical smile in return. Nebia came down from the Skyforge, her grin wide.

“Is what I think is happenin, happenin?” she asked.

Thaegoth strode out into the centre of the yard and beckoned to Mirath. He planted his leg firm and remembered how Sonja had unseated him so easily. Weeks prior, now. With all the practice and the actual fighting between then and now, he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. Besides, he knew how Mirath moved.

“You are not serious,” said Mirath.

“Fight like a warrior, not a thief,” said Thaegoth.

Mirath chuckled, then cut it off himself. He took a few steps forward, holding the sword low.

“I never enter a competition without knowing the stakes,” he said.

“I win, you leave,” said Thaegoth.

“And if you somehow, with all your newfound skills, still fail to triumph?” asked Mirath.

“Then you get the boots, and you leave.”

“Plus the infinite satisfaction of having humbled you in front of your new friends.”

“Speakin of that,” said Nebia. “You two should take your shirts off.”

Thaegoth thought it best not to respond to that. Mirath, however, smirked and started fiddling with his shirt. Thaegoth levelled his sword at him.

“Enough,” he said. “You can play games on your own time. Now, we fight.”

“You think this isn’t playing a game?” asked Mirath, approaching with sword raised. “Has the cold weather dulled your senses? The artifice of this entire scenario is unbearable.”

Thaegoth responded with a swing at Mirath’s head. He ducked and returned with the same lightning speed that Thaegoth had expected. From then on the fight was a blur of clacking swords, swift dodges and ripostes. For a time neither of them landed a single hit, until it sunk in to Thaegoth’s brain that he wasn’t duelling in an Imperial City backstreet. The Companions had different goals.

From then on there was a force to his blows that he’d noticed since his arrival in Skyrim, a strength that Mirath could not match, for all his dexterity. He pushed his rival across the yard, landing several hard blows on his arms and sides. But for his rashness he received returning blows—though lesser in number and force.

Still, he heard a laugh from Nebia at each of them, spurring him on to give far more than he got. Eventually, Mirath rolled away and held out his free hand. He hesitated, seemingly struggling for words as well as breath.

“You’re serious about this,” he said.

“Have I not made that clear,” said Thaegoth through his teeth.

Mirath looked away. Something shifted in his expression, something Thaegoth couldn’t remember seeing before. Aela cleared her throat.

“Would you consider switching sides, Mirath?” she asked.

Thaegoth spun to face her. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” said Aela, flicking at hand at him and Nebia. “We’ve already got one ex-thief and ex-bandit who seem to be doing just fine.”

“High praise,” said Nebia under her breath.

Thaegoth looked back towards Mirath, who was staring at his boots. Thaegoth threw his practice sword at him, which he dodged with ease. “Tell me you’re not considering this.”

“That eager to get rid of me?” asked Mirath, with a forced smile that quickly vanished. He coughed. "I... admit I didn’t think you were serious about this until now. Running one of your long cons. But I’ve heard about the good you do here.”

“Oh gods,” said Nebia. “Are we do-gooders?”

“A horrifying prospect, is it not?” said Mirath, smiling at her.

“I’ll give you the boots,” said Thaegoth suddenly. “If you just piss off.”

Mirath sighed. “I’m tempted to stay just to annoy you,” he said. “But if I don’t return, you know the Guild will just send somebody else.” He looked up at Jorrvaskr and sighed again. “I am on a job, after all. Where are the boots?”

“I’ll take you there,” said Thaegoth, striding for the hall and his real sword.

“Hey,” said Aela. Thaegoth turned back to see her pointing where the thrown practice sword had landed, against the far palisade of Whiterun. “Clean up after yourself,” she said.


	26. Up to Speed

Sonja was getting good at sleeping in a bumping carriage. Heading north back to Skyrim this time, she awoke to see both Dagny and Charos still opposite her and still awake. This carriage was at least covered, she thought. She looked out of the back in the hopes of recognising any sort of landmarks, but there was nothing. Still just rolling green hills and distant trees. Still Cyrodiil, then.

There was evidence of crying on Dagny’s face, but at that moment her eyes were clear. Her large Redguard bodyguard hadn’t said another word since they’d left the Imperial City. He met Sonja’s gaze briefly, then looked away. Dagny coughed and wiped her nose.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” she said. “What’s been going on. For years, it turns out. I should’ve…”

“There’s no way you could’ve known the letters were being stolen,” said Sonja, though she thought that there had to have been some way to work it out. Then she remembered how long it had been since she’d heard from her father, back in Markarth, and the thought died.

“Still,” said Dagny. “I should have gone home.” She looked up from her hands. “You got to tell me what’s happened.”

Sonja looked at Charos, who was still looking studiously out the back of the carriage.

“He won’t say anything,” said Dagny. Charos, indeed, didn’t say anything.

“What do you want to know?” asked Sonja. She couldn’t think of where to begin. Maybe if she was a Whiterun native, she thought, the words would roll right off her tongue. Or maybe if she was a Whiterun native, she would have been just as biased against Dagny as everybody else.

“Tell me what happened to Frothar,” said Dagny. “And my father.”

Sonja stared at her hands. There was no way she could think of to make the news sound any better. “He fell... it was a riding accident, they said.”

“Bullcrap,” said Dagny. Sonja’s surprise must have reached her face, because she added, “My brother was a better rider than me. Better than our uncle used to be, even. He fell once when he was a child. Then never again.”

“Your uncle, Hrongar, was kidnapped,” said Sonja. “We rescued him,” she hastened to add. “Someone was trying to kill him. Left him for trolls in Labyrinthian.”

“Is that what happened to your arm?” asked Dagny, pointing at Sonja’s shield-arm, which she was still holding stiffly in her lap. Sonja nodded. Dagny looked at her hands. “Someone’s got a grudge against my family,” she says. “Did you find who did it?”

“We hit a wall,” said Sonja. “Brenuin, the beggar, paid some bandits to do the job.”

“Brenuin? Where would he have gotten that kind of gold?” asked Dagny.

“We thought he was just a middleman,” said Sonja, though she felt a flush that most of the detective work had been Aela’s and Thaegoth’s. “By the time we got to him, someone had tried to kill him too. He’s recovering... somewhere safe.” Sonja remembered that neither Aela nor Thaegoth had actually told her the place, arguing that the less people knew, the better.

Dagny was silent. Sonja looked at her for a time before the sight of that face creased by sadness and anger became too much for her. She glanced over at Charos, then out the back of the carriage, where a light wind was blowing in the sun. She wasn’t cut out for consoling, she thought. Or this investigative turn the Companions’ job appeared to have taken.

“Do you know who’d want to stop messages getting to you?” she asked.

Dagny shook her head. “It could have been weeks until I heard about father, otherwise.” Her voice caught on the first word as she asked, “How did that happen?”

“He... he didn’t sit his throne again after Frothar died. Old age, or grief took him,” said Sonja.

“I knew he was old,” said Dagny. “But I never thought...”

There was another long silence. Sonja imagined how she would feel if she received news her father had died, without her getting back to Markarth to see him. She didn’t even know if he was still in the guards, or whether his drinking and proclivity for starting fights had gotten him kicked out. Time had been that was an asset in the Markarth guard, but not in these less warlike days. She shuffled her feet on the bottom of the carriage and sighed. Probably making a trip home would be the right thing to do. But probably she didn’t feel like it. Probably she wouldn’t.

Charos coughed. “Do you not have a younger brother?” he said in his deep resonant voice. “He would ascend the throne were you to fall, if I understand the system correctly.”

“You think Nelkir is behind this?” asked Sonja, glad that somebody else had brought it up. She had never encountered Balgruuf’s third child since arriving in Whiterun, but nobody spoke well of him in town, that was for sure.

Charos nodded shortly at her, but Dagny was frowning.

“He’s a little creep,” she said. “But I don’t think he’d kill the entire family to put himself on the throne. I don’t even remember him being that interested in ruling. Mostly he just pulled stupid pranks and got himself into trouble. Father yelled at him a lot.”

“If you want my advice,” said Charos, “you will do away with this brother as soon as you ascend to the throne of Whiterun.”

“Were you hired to give advice?” asked Sonja, regretting the sharpness in her tone.

“I was hired for many things,” said Charos, meeting her gaze. “I now accompany my lady free of charge.”

* * *

 

As Sonja headed gradually northwards, Thaegoth led Mirath south, into Falkreath. He retraced his earlier steps when he had fled into Skyrim, leading his ex-colleague around to the west of the hold’s capital, where the trees rose taller than anywhere else in the province.

Thaegoth spent most of the journey with his fists clenched, focussed on putting one foot in front of the other. He didn’t want to turn to see if Mirath was still following, but the soft footsteps were confirmation enough. Always pattering behind him. This had been his idea, but already Thaegoth was regretting the whole operation. Maybe he would have been better off staying back in—but no. Then he would never have met Sonja.

It wasn’t until they were well into Falkreath hold, actually quite near the ruins where Thaegoth had hidden the Boots of Springheel Jak, that Mirath spoke.

 “So that was a front, was it not?” he asked. “For the benefit of those fine new friends of yours.” Thaegoth was silent but for some grinding of his teeth, so Mirath continued. “There’s got to be something else going on. Some longer job you’re running. You’re in contact with the local Guild. Highly provincial, I can only assume. Hard to imagine there’s anything worth having in this—”

“There is no front,” said Thaegoth.

“Going through the back door again?” asked Mirath, and Thaegoth did not turn to see the grin he knew would be spread across that face. That face that he’d never wanted to punch more than he did now.

“We’re here,” said Thaegoth, leading them just west off the road to a small stone ruin, circular and domed. The slope was shallow enough for them to climb up and Thaegoth dropped easily among the long grass in the central glade, wading over to the chest, still where it had been the last time he’d come through. Mirath hesitated above on the edge.

Thaegoth rummaged behind the chest where he had stashed the boots, quickly pulling out the package and holding it aloft.

“Open it,” said Mirath, walking around the top of the ruin, closer to where a tree sprung up against the stone, rising above the limits of the rim. The dark elf rested an arm on a branch and crouched. Thaegoth sighed and was working at the string on the package when he started to hear a buzzing sound.

He looked up to see a green fuzziness forming in the trunk of the tree. There were several cracks and a humanoid figure became visible. He realised then he was staring at a creature Aela had warned him against: a spriggan.

One of its gnarled hands reached up and curled around Mirath’s ankle. It pulled, sending him down onto his back in the glade. He cried out, trying to crawl away, though the spriggan’s grip remained tight.

Thaegoth saw a way out then. Do nothing. Keep the boots, vanish into a new identity, let the spriggan do as it would to Mirath. Maybe he could convince Sonja to come with him, maybe head to High Rock. Always places for the mercenary-minded there, so went the tales. And then he thought of the look that would be sure to come across her face when he told her how he’d abandoned an old comrade-in-arms, thief or not.

Thaegoth dropped the package, drew his sword, and leapt forward. His first strike did not sever the spriggan’s arm, but it did cut deep enough that it released its grasp from Mirath’s leg, who scrambled back and up and drew his own long knife.

Thaegoth hacked a few quick times at the spriggan, before a rush of stinging draining things in his vision forced him back.

“Would it kill you to bring a sword?” he yelled.

“I’d have brought an axe if I knew we’d be fighting gods-damned trees,” returned Mirath, coming forward with his knife nonetheless, cutting ineffectively at the woody exterior of their foe. Thaegoth, realising simply waving his hand would not dispel the small creatures that were draining his energy, hewed forward, swinging near-blindly. One strike landed true enough, cutting into the spriggan’s heart. It let out a sound like an exhalation of breath, and collapsed.

Mirath was breathing heavily, staring at the still body. Thaegoth sheathed his sword, picked up the package that had brought them there, and held it out to Mirath.

“Keep them,” he said, which sent Thaegoth’s eyebrows right up. Mirath tried and failed at affecting a casual shrug. “I’ll tell them you fell down a ravine or something. Seems like the sort of country to have lots of them.”

Thaegoth looked down, then shook his head, thrusting the boots into Mirath’s chest and letting go, forcing the latter to catch them.

“You got what you came for,” said Thaegoth, turning towards the narrow passage that would take him outside the ruins. He couldn’t find the energy for climbing back up the way they’d come in. And he certainly wasn’t trusting that tree enough to climb it.

He was most of the way through the doorway before he heard Mirath’s voice. This time, he turned.

“What kind of life is it?” he asked. “Being a Companion, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” said Thaegoth, feeling very tired. “I haven’t been at it that long. But... solving things, helping people, it’s... like nothing else. The feeling through your bones, walking through a town where people smile at you rather than look away.”

Mirath was silent, looking at the package in his hands. Thaegoth lingered for a moment, some old faint hope rising in his chest. But Mirath said nothing.

“Safe journey,” murmured Thaegoth. He turned and left the ruin. All the way back to Whiterun, he kept checking over his shoulder.


	27. Long May They Reign

They held Balgruuf’s funeral on the great porch of Dragonsreach. His pyre stacked high at the far end, where the Dragonborn had climbed onto the back of a dragon and ridden all the way to Sovngarde. The smoke rose almost as high, the crackling flames blocking any clear view of the old Jarl’s body.

Most of Whiterun was in attendance. Balgruuf might have been a hard ruler at times, but he had seen the city safely through the civil war and the rise of the dragons, and respect for him was stronger than perhaps for any other Jarl in Skyrim. To that end, every other Jarl but Idgrod of Morthal—who had sent no excuse—was present, including High Queen Elisif.

She was accompanied by an Altmer in fine black robes, pointed out to Sonja by a quieter-than-usual Hrongar, who came up alongside without a greeting.

“Very close advisor to our High Queen, so I hear,” he murmured.

Sonja didn’t have time to reply before Hrongar had moved on. After the proper rites had been observed, the crowd tramped downstairs to the main hall for the wake. Sonja wandered through the mass of people, swarming around the tables and the fires, the former loaded with food and drink, the latter stoked high.

She was looking for Thaegoth. With all the rush of Dagny’s return to Whiterun and the preparations for the funeral, there had been no moment for them to talk. She whispered a question in Nebia’s ear, who grinned and pointed to the stairs down to the dungeon, where Thaegoth leaned on the railing, munching disinterestedly on a pastry.

“I hear Mirath is gone,” she said, leaning alongside him.

He’d seen her coming a long way off, and thought that was what she’d want to talk about, but he still found himself off guard at her words. Maybe it was something intrinsic about her, he thought.

“He is,” said Thaegoth. “I gave him the boots back. He’s heading south. It’s finished.”

“I know I said lots of smaller acts work better than one big one,” said Sonja, “but as far as big ones go, that’s pretty convincing.”

Thaegoth grinned at her. They both said “I’m sorry” at the same time. Sonja paused, then laughed.

“I’m sorry I was raised by thieves,” said Thaegoth.

“And I’m sorry I was raised by guards,” said Sonja.

“Really?” he asked. “All this talk of my past, there hasn’t been any of yours.”

Sonja folded her arms. “Much less adventures than you, I’m sure. I’m from Markarth, my father—you know where that is?”

“In the Reach,” said Thaegoth, nodding. “I bought myself a map.”

“Right,” said Sonja, finding herself smiling. “Good. Well, my father was—is—a guard there. Never knew my mother. Practically raised in the barracks. But I came here instead. For glory, or something. And got... this.”

“I’m glad you did,” said Thaegoth. His eyes flicked away and Sonja followed his gaze to see the Altmer advisor to Elisif approaching. He stopped in front of them and bowed.

“My apologies if I have interrupted,” he said, “and my condolences on the loss of your lord. I am called Antario, with the honour of being advisor to High Queen Elisif. I was hoping to sound your opinions on a simple yet important matter, if you could spare the time.”

Whatever words Sonja might have had vanished. Thaegoth, however, returned the bow and spoke as if he’d been raised in a throne room rather than the streets.

“We are at your disposal,” he said. “I am Thaegoth, originally of the Imperial City, and this is Sonja. Both of us now have the honour to be of the Companions.”

“I thought I detected your accent,” said Antario, smiling evenly. “My own time in the capital was brief, but eventful. Regardless, you have my thanks.” He turned to face Sonja. “It is my understanding that you are responsible for the return of Balgruuf’s daughter.” Sonja managed to nod. “What is your opinion of her, with regards to her ability to competently rule?”

“I... I didn’t know her long,” said Sonja, internally cursing. She did a long blink and gave up all hope of speaking as fine as this high elf. “I mean, just the carriage ride north.” Antario nodded patiently. “And I didn’t know her before—I’m from Markarth. But she seems… grounded. Like she’s not going to put up with shit.”

“Like her father,” said Thaegoth.

“Ah,” said Antario. “I will admit this comes as some surprise. I have been hearing, in fact, quite the opposite from near everybody else.”

Sonja looked across the hall, to where Dagny stood near the throne downing a drink and swaying a little, Charos hovering nearby.

“She could have changed,” said Sonja forcefully.

“I assure you I have no reason to doubt your opinion,” said Antario, “only that it is not the prevailing one in this hall. People seem to be displeased with the spoilt child they remember, rather than the woman actually before them. Her lengthy departure to the Imperial City rather sours matters, as does that foreign bodyguard. Then there is the matter of her ignoring letters from home, not attending her brother’s funeral or to her father’s sickness.”

“The letters were tampered with,” said Sonja quickly, perhaps too loudly. Thaegoth grabbed at her arm and she jumped. But within the mass of people and noise in Dragonsreach, nobody seemed to have heard her. Thaegoth let go of her and she felt the echo of his skin against hers for a long time afterwards.

“That is a serious accusation,” said Antario, leaning forward slightly. “Do you have any proofs?”

“Wait,” said Sonja, and moved into the crowd. She thrust her way to the nearest table, looking along its length for an ex-bandit of her acquaintance who’d no doubt be nearest the alcohol. She spotted Nebia halfway down, cradling a bottle of wine and talking expansively to somebody who looked rather like the description she’d heard of Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold. She apologised and pulled Nebia away.

“Ah, what the hells you doin, I was just gettin to the good part of that story!” protested Nebia.

“Did you get the name of that legionnaire?” asked Sonja. “Who was stopping the messengers?”

“Nah,” said Nebia, shaking off Sonja’s grip. “Hey, I asked all polite-like like you said, got myself laughed at. When I asked again, the quaestor in question tried making a go for my tits, so I headbutted him. Broke his nose. Made myself scarce.”

Sonja patted Nebia on the arm and moved away. The right thing to do, no doubt, but it meant she now had to go back and tell Thaegoth and Antario the truth. The pair were talking quietly when she approached, but broke off to look at her expectantly. She shook her head, and re-established herself alongside Thaegoth.

“That is indeed a shame,” said Antario.

“Why are you so interested in this?” asked Thaegoth.

Antario gave a very subtle look around them before answering. “My lady shares your opinion of Dagny—where she gets it I am not privy to. However, she will have to bow before the majority opinion of her Jarls, if things come to a head.”

“What d’you mean?” asked Sonja.

“I fear that events are not proceeding in Dagny’s favour,” said Antario. He looked towards the throne. “The coronation is set to occur directly after the wake. Or, perhaps, even sooner.” He gestured at Proventus ascending to stand on the dais before the throne.

The steward coughed, paused, then called, “Could I please have everyone’s attention?”

The level of noise in the hall did not change.

“Quiet!” bellowed Hrongar.

The hall was quiet. “As so much of the town is present,” said Proventus, “as are our honoured guests, the collected Jarls of Skyrim and our majesty High Queen Elisif”—he paused to bow in her direction, though Sonja couldn’t see her over the crowd—“it has been decided to hold the coronation forthwith. Immediately.”

Dagny tottered as she ascended the dais. Charos moved to assist her, but she waved him back. A murmur ran through the crowd. Dagny, her eyes red-rimmed, her brow furrowed, opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again as her younger brother Nelkir strode up and stood in front of her. He spread his arms wide and addressed the crowd.

“People of Whiterun,” he said, his voice reaching every corner of the hall, “you see two heirs to the throne before you. But I tell you there is only one who is fit for the job. My sister abandoned my family, abandoned this city when it needed her most. We sent word, like good families do, sent word of our troubles. We received no answer, not once. She frolicked down in Cyrodiil while we suffered and endured, as the people of Skyrim always have.”

Thaegoth scanned the crowd, seeing many nods and murmurs of agreement. His old thief’s cynicism was rising in him. Of course they were falling for these easy, obvious arguments. He stopped himself before he strayed into the same Imperial snobbishness Nelkir was accusing Dagny of.

“She is not fit to sit in the throne of my father,” Nelkir went on. “She is not worthy to govern the good people of this city. Not only does she care nothing for us, she disgraces Balgruuf’s name at his very funeral, with her drunken lewdness.”

“Lewdness?” asked Dagny, the word coming low and slurred.

Thaegoth met the eyes of Irileth across the crowd. He remembered what she had said about Nelkir as Jarl: a disaster for all of us. He tried to put a question into his expression. Should they act? She shook her head.

“You consort with a low-life,” explained Nelkir, taking a step away from his sister. “A known bandit, unclean and—”

Whatever further insults Nelkir had planned for Charos, he never got to utter them. Dagny made a noise closer to a growl than anything else and hurled herself at him, clawing at his neck, scattering spittle in his face. A pair of guards were on hand in moments—close enough that Thaegoth thought it must have been arranged—and hauled Dagny off her brother.

There were low mutters among the crowd. Nelkir straightened his tunic and produced a handkerchief to wipe the spittle from his face. After a moment, he faced the crowd again.

“I can only apologise for my sister’s intolerable behaviour,” he said. “But in truth, good people of Whiterun, I have but one question for you. Do you support my claim as Jarl?”

There was a great cheer from the crowd. Nelkir grinned wide. He looked around, spotting the various other Jarls in the hall.

“Do you support my claim?” he asked them. Silence fell.

Dengeir of Falkreath, a greying Nord who was drunkenly staggering even more than Dagny, was the first to call “Aye!”

“Aye, I’m with you,” said Igmund of Markarth.

“Yes,” said Maven of Riften, quieter than the others but firmer, standing with her arms folded, apart from everyone else even within the crowd.

“Aye,” said Brunwulf of Windhelm, quietest of all.

There was a pause then. Kraldar of Winterhold cleared his throat, but Brina of Dawnstar spoke over him.

“I will defer to my High Queen, whatever her decision may be,” she said. There was a reproval in her tone and Thaegoth wondered what the proper procedure actually was. Should the others have waited for Elisif to speak first?

“As will I,” said Kraldar.

There was silence again. All eyes in the room focussed on High Queen Elisif, though Sonja noticed that Antario, still next to her and Thaegoth, looked almost sad.

“I cannot go against the wishes of my fellow Jarls,” said Elisif, “nor those of the people of Whiterun.”

Dagny flailed against the guards that held her. “You little sneaking creeping creep,” she yelled. “Our father ought to step down from Sovngarde to crush you like a worm.”

Nelkir flinched, but then suddenly straightened. A smile crept on to his face and was quickly brushed away. He stood firmer on the dais and said, “This woman assaulted your Jarl. Take her to the dungeon.”

The guards dragged Dagny through the hall, the crowd parting, as she continued to flail and curse at her brother. Charos stepped forward, halting at the base of the dais. Thaegoth rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and made a note of where the other Companions were, all of them doing the same.

“Do you wish to join your mistress?” asked Nelkir, sneering on the last word. “Because that can be arranged.”

Charos stared at Nelkir for what seemed like a long time. Then, wordless, he turned and stalked from the hall. He went out through the main doors, the crowd parting for him as it had for Dagny. From then, the ceremony progressed at speed. Nelkir sat in the throne, his legs planted wide apart, and gestured for Proventus to bring the crown.

The steward approached, gently lowering the crown onto Nelkir’s head. Sonja shivered, finding herself looking to Thaegoth for assurance. She noticed he’d done the same and an entirely different, warmer sort of shiver ran through her.

“All hail Jarl Nelkir,” said Proventus. “Long may he reign.”

“Long may he reign!” chanted the crowd.

That smile, so quickly suppressed before, returned to Nelkir’s face.

“There are going to be some changes around here,” he said.


	28. Appointments

When the next morning came, it took a long while for all the Companions to filter up to breakfast in Jorrvaskr. Thorald came by, as he usually did. He said the food was better than the stuff at House Gray-Mane, but they all knew he just preferred the company. Besides, he often ended up cooking.

“You don’t understand,” he was saying when Thaegoth came up the stairs. “You weren’t here, you don’t remember what she was like as a child.”

“And that’s enough reason to drag her off to the dungeon?” demanded Sonja. Thaegoth took a spot as near as her as he could manage. She flashed him a brief smile before directing her hard gaze back at Thorald.

“No,” he said, though with hesitation. “In some ideal world, Nelkir would not be my choice for the throne either. But we do not live in some ideal world.”

“You can say that again,” mumbled Nebia around a mouthful.

“You don’t understand,” said Sonja. “You didn’t see the Dagny I did. The news I gave her broke her. Besides, the messages were tampered with.”

“Don’t say that until you can prove it,” said Aela.

“We can’t yet,” said Sonja. She sank in her chair. It was hard to summon up an appetite in the face of all her efforts coming to nothing. That trek down to Imperial City, having to be the bearer of such tidings, and for what? To get Nelkir to the throne.

“We will, though,” said Thaegoth.

“Dagny would make a fine Jarl,” muttered Sonja, poking at her food. “Nelkir’s just… he gives me the creeps.”

“He seemed strong,” said Thorald. “A confident man.”

“He can play a crowd, that’s for sure,” said Thaegoth. “He’s a... what we called a confidence trickster. Someone who makes you believe he’s your friend while he picks your pockets and stabs you in the back.”

“Shut it, all of you,” said Nebia, hunched further down the table. “Too hungover for fucking politics.” There was heavy knocking at the door then and she winced. Thaegoth rose, but Sonja gestured him back. She trod over to the front doors and opened one, finding the large Redguard, Charos, standing there. There were creases in his brow that looked too deep to be anything but permanent, and his eyes were heavily bloodshot.

“I need to talk to you, alone,” he said. “Is there somewhere nearby we can do that?”

Which wasn’t the longest string of words Sonja had heard him put together, but it was close. She looked back into Jorrvaskr and gestured to the others that she was fine. She stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her.

“Up there,” she said, pointing to the great stone bird that marked the Skyforge. She and Charos strode up the steps in silence.

            “Forgive me,” he said, when they were stood by the cold forge. “I do not know how… anything works here.”

“First time in Skyrim, huh,” said Sonja.

“Yes,” said Charos. He looked up at the clear morning sky. “The temperature is... but that is not important. What are Mistress Dagny’s options for removing herself from the prison? The guards will not let me see her. You are the only other person that I know in Skyrim.”

“Surely,” said Sonja, but she cut herself off. The pressure of the situation got the better of her for a moment. She breathed in and out, then answered. “It’s with the Jarl, now. The steward and others, the guard commander, they could try to persuade him. But he’s the Jarl. He can do what he likes with her.”

“Could he kill her?” asked Charos.

Sonja hadn’t thought of that. She realised, in fact, that she hadn’t thought ahead at all. She hadn’t thought joining the Companions would involve such intricacies, such planning. She wished for a problem she could solve with just her sword and shield in hand.

“He could,” said Sonja. “Jarls have done that for less than what she did. Hitting him in front of everyone… I don’t think he’d go that far.”

“I am not persuaded,” said Charos.

“I... don’t know what to say,” said Sonja. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” said Charos, looking away. “It is no fault of yours.”

There was no unevenness in his words, no wavering to his stance, despite his obvious lack of sleep. Sonja tried to think what she would be like, were the same thing to happen to Nebia, or Aela, or—

“Where are you staying?” she asked, crushing her own thought before it could take over her mind.

“I am not popular here,” said Charos, meeting her gaze again. “Whether it is because of Dagny or because I am Redguard I do not know. Probably it is both.” He shook his head. “I thank you for your help.” He turned away towards the stairs.

“I could ask Aela,” said Sonja. “See about letting you stay here.”

“It is a kind offer,” said Charos, half-turning back. “Kinder than any I have received since entering this province. But I fear it would only make things worse for you. Do not worry about me.”

“Where will you go?”

“I am not leaving Whiterun until Mistress Dagny is safe. I expected to see her take the throne, but now... I would be content to see her out of Skyrim.”

Charos trod down the stairs, almost colliding with a town guard at the entry into Jorrvaskr’s yard. Charos stepped back, bowed low in apology, and continued on, quickly. The guard, however, sent only a glare after him. Sonja descended the stairs and asked them what they wanted.

“Is the elf here?” asked the guard.

“You mean Thaegoth?”

“That’s what I said. The Jarl wants him. Now.”

“I’ll tell him,” said Sonja. She wondered if they could get Thorald to make some gates for the gateway into Jorrvaskr, if this was going to be the regular amount of intrusions. She felt a momentary stab of longing for the days when it had just been her and Aela, then felt the shame at that suggestion. She went inside, noticing that the guard didn’t hang around.

            The others were still eating, still arguing. Sonja felt heavy and slow. Her voice cut across everyone else’s.

“Thaegoth, Nelkir wants to see you,” she said.

“Tell him to fuck off,” said Nebia.

“Why?” asked Thaegoth, quickly swallowing his mouthful.

Sonja shrugged. “The guard didn’t say,” she said. “But they said now.” She felt it best to leave out the casual racism. Each time she thought Skyrim could do better, it let her down. Things had been moving in the right direction, at least, but now, under Nelkir, who could say how attitudes would change.

Thaegoth looked over at Aela, who was frowning.

“Go,” she said. “No reason to make him hate us so soon.”

Thaegoth rose, shared a look with Sonja, came past within a few inches of her, and exited Jorrvaskr. He strode lightly through the city, his thoughts collecting like dark clouds in his head. He wished he could have done something before the coronation, but what? Only get himself thrown in the dungeon with Dagny, most likely.

Every so often the image of Sonja would force its way into his head and the clouds would clear. He was in one of these moments when he ran into Irileth halfway up the stairs to Dragonsreach. They paused on one of the landings and she looked up and down the stairs before she spoke.

“Nelkir’s been getting off on his new powers,” she said. “Changing the place just to change it.”

“Surely he can’t—”

“He’s the Jarl,” said Irileth. “He can do what he likes.”

Now it was Thaegoth who looked around for eavesdroppers.

“I don’t understand how this could happen,” he said.

“The pieces were there,” she said. “We just didn’t pay attention.” She clenched and unclenched her fists. “Probably you’ve got more of them than I have. I’ll see you in Jorrvaskr when you’re done. We need to talk.”

“How is he?” asked Thaegoth. “Before last night I’d never heard a word from him.”

Irileth scowled. “He’s already dismissed Brelyna, Proventus, and me,” she said. “Does that answer your question?”

Thaegoth’s mouth opened and closed without making any sound. It didn’t make any sense. Brelyna was the court mage; every court in Skyrim had to have a mage, as far as he understood. Though Brelyna hadn’t held the job long—and she was a Dunmer to boot. Perhaps Nelkir had some Nord mage in mind.

The others were harder to rationalise. Proventus the steward, it was said, kept Whiterun running smoothly, though it was also said that most of his real advice came from his daughter, the smith Adrienne.

“Hrongar’s steward now,” said Irileth. “I’ve never seen the man so unhappy.”

“Hrongar’s a good man, but...”

“He’s no, what’s the word?”

“Administrator,” said Thaegoth. “What about the new housecarl?”

Irileth gave a slow half-smile. She folded her hands behind her back.

“He’s going to offer the job to you,” she said.

Thaegoth took a step back and almost fell down the stairs. A panic rose in his chest, red and flailing and impotent. The Companions were his atonement for previous crimes, his new comrades, he couldn’t just abandon them, not now when they were just getting back on their feet. What good could he do standing by the side of Nelkir’s throne all day? What good could he do when he didn’t have Sonja there beside him?

The last thought made him flush and he looked away, but Irileth either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“You’re going to accept,” she said.

“What?” he asked. “Why in any god’s name would I do that?”

Irileth leaned close and her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Because you’ll be placed all the better to help bring him down.”


	29. Sedition

The guards inclined their heads to Thaegoth as they let him into Dragonsreach. The most respect he’d ever seen from them, he thought. Was that all it took? The promise of a title from the Jarl and suddenly you were a true and valued member of Whiterun. He stepped across the hall towards the throne, where Nelkir was talking with Hrongar. The older man looked more haggard and drained than Thaegoth had ever seen him before, even when they’d dragged him out of Labyrinthian after that incident with the troll. His nephew, however, looked fully alive, and there was a goblet of wine in his hand and a grin on his face as he turned his attention to Thaegoth.

“Good, you’re finally here,” said Whiterun’s new Jarl. He leaned forward, planting his feet wide apart. “Irileth had to go. You probably ran into her on the stairs.”

Here Thaegoth flinched, and couldn’t tell if Nelkir’s smile was at that, or something else. Maybe his new power made him perennially pleased.

“She was focussed on the past,” Nelkir went on. “While I am focussed only on the future. Whiterun is a strong city, for my father—”

He broke off, his eyes unfocussing, and his knuckles went white around his goblet.

“My father did so much for this city. But there is still more to be done. To that end, I need the right sort of people around me, the sort of people who don’t shy away from the hard decisions, the sort of people who can stand firm in the face of opposition, the sort of people who can see the future for Whiterun that I can see.”

He rose, downed the remaining contents of his goblet, and hurled it sideways across the hall. A servant went scurrying after it. Nelkir took a step towards the edge of the dais and looked down at Thaegoth.

“I fully expect to make enemies,” said the Jarl. “Those against the progress that I propose will send everything they have at me. I need a strong, fast sword at my side. I need a housecarl.”

There was a pause. Thaegoth felt empty. He looked up at Nelkir and Hrongar and everything seemed flat and featureless.

“And you want me,” he said.

“I do,” said Nelkir. He gestured at his uncle. “I heard of your rescue of my family, the only family I have left.”

“There’s Dagny,” said Thaegoth, instantly regretting it as anger spasmed across Nelkir’s face.

“She is no family of mine,” he said. Just as abruptly, the anger was gone. “You went into that hellhole Labyrinthian to save my blood, and I thank you for it. More than that, I want you at my side as I steer Whiterun into the future.”

There were objections Thaegoth could have made, he thought later. That the job of rescuing Hrongar had been a team effort. That his duty to the Companions came first. That he was secretly ex-Guild. That he wasn’t as proficient with a sword as Nelkir seemed to think. That he thought Nelkir was only barely human. That he wouldn’t be able to see Sonja every day.

But he remembered what Irileth had said about Nelkir and what Sonja had said about Dagny. The wrong person was on the throne, and they were the only ones in a position to do something about it. Thaegoth closed his eyes for a brief moment before meeting Nelkir’s gaze for the first time.

“I accept,” he said.

“Of course you do,” said Nelkir. He gestured vaguely to the entire hall, though there was nobody but servants and guards present. “Never let it be said that I am not an inclusive man.”

It was all Thaegoth could do not to spit at him.

“Get your things and return,” said the Jarl, heading for the stairs that led up into the rest of Dragonsreach. “Every moment lost now is another stone missing from the future edifice of Whiterun. Hrongar will give you the details.”

And he was gone. Hrongar descended the dais and clasped wrists with Thaegoth.

“I didn’t think you’d accept,” said the aged Nord, barely above a whisper. Thaegoth shrugged. What could he say? Hrongar looked with a frown towards the stairs where the Jarl had gone. “You’d best be back quick. He gets... angry, if things don’t happen quick.”

Thaegoth nodded and turned. He left Dragonsreach and trod the steps down to Jorrvaskr with his mind clear and featureless. When he went into the hall of the Companions, Irileth was already at the head of their table, and the way the others looked at him when he came in, he knew she’d already told them about his new appointment.

“Did you accept?” asked Sonja, her voice rough.

Thaegoth found he couldn’t do more than nod. He headed for the stairs, but Irileth called him back.

“You should know what we’re planning,” she said.

“We?” asked Aela.

“Yeah, me and you and everybody in this room,” said Irileth. “We’re going to take that piece of shit down.”

“This is treason,” said Thorald, rising shakily from his chair. “I won’t hear it.”

“Then go,” said Irileth. “This isn’t your hall.”

“It’s not yours either,” said Aela.

Thorald was heading for the front doors. His limping pace had a silent fury to it. At the doors, he turned back to face the room.

“I won’t turn you in,” he said. “But I want no part in this.”

He left Jorrvaskr. Aela leaned across the table, jabbing a finger in Irileth’s direction.

“Thanks for pissing off my smith,” she said.

“Forgive me if little Thorald’s feelings aren’t my first thought,” said Irileth. She stood up. “I’m going to bring down Nelkir. I think he’s behind all the shit you’ve been looking into, and I want your help. Who’s with me?”

“I’m in,” said Nebia. The others all looked at her. “What?” she added, shrugging. “Like you get a chance to topple a Jarl every day.”

Irileth looked at Sonja and Thaegoth.

“I know you two hate Nelkir,” she said. “I know you’re putting the pieces together.”

“We’re with you,” said Thaegoth. He hesitated, wondering if he ought to have spoken for Sonja as well. “Though I don’t know how easy it’ll be to talk to you while I’m housecarl.”

Irileth waved a hand. “We’ll work something out.”

Sonja looked at her hands. Large and bruised, as always. She was still getting used to the idea of not having Thaegoth around Jorrvaskr, for who knew how long.

“I’m in,” she said.

“No,” said Aela. “I’m not having the Companions sneaking around Whiterun, plotting behind our Jarl’s back.”

Sonja planted a hand flat on the table. “You’re the one who told me that a certain amount of politics is necessary to survive in Whiterun.”

“It’s a long way between that,” said Aela, “and open treason against the Jarl.”

“Won’t be nothin open about it,” said Nebia, grinning. “Least not to start with.”

Aela shook her head. “We’ll all end up with Dagny, or dead, if we are discovered. This is beyond our reach.”

Thaegoth trod back towards the table, standing alongside Irileth. Ideas and futures rattled around his head but still he managed to find the words.

“The Companions exist to protect the people of Whiterun,” he said. “Nelkir is just as much of a threat as a roving pack of bandits. Worse, with the power he wields. He could make life into a hell for us and everyone in this town if he wanted to.”

“Even if he’s done any of the things we think he might’ve,” said Aela, “we have no proof. Brenuin’s not talking, maybe dead. The bandits we tracked to Morthal didn’t know shit. You couldn’t get anything out of that Imperial quaestor, either.”

“I might pay him another visit,” said Nebia. “Give him just enough time for his nose to heal up, and then…” She slammed her fist into her palm.

“We’ll find some proof,” said Sonja.

“That’s the spirit,” said Irileth. “Where do we start?”

Aela rose from her chair. “Do what you like,” she said. “There’s no queen in this hall. But I want no part in it.” She headed for the stairs, but turned back before descending. She gestured down the opposite end of the hall, towards the disused guest quarters. “Irileth, that room’s yours, long as you need it.”

Irileth frowned, not making eye contact. “I owe you,” she said.

“We don’t owe each other anything,” said Aela, almost inaudible. She trod down the stairs out of sight. There was a long silence after she was gone. Sonja wanted to go after the Harbinger, but also didn’t want to lose a moment of being in a room with Thaegoth, if there were so few of those moments remaining.

“You probably shouldn’t tell me too much of what you’re doing,” he said, heading for the stairs himself. “I can’t tell Nelkir what I don’t know.”

Irileth nodded and Thaegoth headed downstairs. There wasn’t much in his room that he wanted to take with him. He’d never been one for sentimental objects, so his pack ended up being filled with his plain set of clothes, some potions, and spare arrows. He was wearing his leather armour and sword, of course, and he hefted his bow and pack in one hand, looking around the room. He’d made such little impact on it since his arrival in Whiterun, he thought. It was neater, maybe. Emptier. He went back upstairs.

Irileth, Sonja, and Nebia all looked at him.

“I’m going, then,” he said. He cursed himself for such a stupid remark. Where were his cutting, inspiring speeches about the nature of the Companions now? “I’ll keep an eye out for anything we can use,” he added. “Try and see how Dagny’s doing.”

“Good,” said Irileth. “We’ll cook up some way of getting messages to you.”

Thaegoth nodded and headed for the front doors. Sonja watched him go, her mouth half-open but no words forming. The door closed and he was gone.

Sonja suddenly realised she was standing. The others were looking at her.

“I have to…” she said. She ran for the door.

Thaegoth hadn’t made it past the front gateway. She called his name. He turned and they met halfway. He smiled.

“It won’t be for long,” he said.

Sonja was sure her heart was pounding loud enough for him to hear it, for all of Whiterun to hear it. She forced herself to look him in the eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I...”

She stretched out her hand towards him. He opened his mouth, swallowed, then took her hand in his own. Sonja felt her hand was clammy, that he was sure to feel repulsed. But all Thaegoth felt was a pleasing warmth that came from her hand and made it all the way to his chest. She took a small step forward.

She stuttered, cleared her throat, and met his eyes. He was about an inch shorter than her, she noticed. The only other time they’d been this close was the test of arms they’d performed upon his induction to the Companions. With her body pressed on top of his. No time then to notice any slight differences in height.

“Be careful,” she said, just above a whisper. “If you can.”

“Not really in our line of work, is it?” he said, at the same volume.

She felt herself smile then. Damn him, she thought. She’d wanted to be serious and here she was, amused and forgetting what she actually wanted to do, letting her mind step around it. Heat rushed to her face and she took a step back, but didn’t let go of his hand.

They both wished for the other to act. The silence stretched on. They looked away from each other. Then they both started speaking at the same time. They both cut themselves off, paused, but it was Sonja who got out her words first.

“You better go,” she said. “Jarl’s waiting.”

He nodded, looked down at his boots, and let go of her hand. He took a step back, then turned and headed for Dragonsreach. Sonja watched him go. She ground her teeth and clenched her fists. By the time the anger at herself was strong enough, he was well out of sight. A fucking coward, she thought. I’m a fucking coward and a fool.

She stomped around the back of Jorrvaskr. Maybe one of the practice dummies would oblige her and let her pummel it until she was too tired to feel her regrets.


	30. Servitude

The next morning, Thorald brought down Nebia’s new finished mace. As she was giving it some enthusiastic test swings, he repeated his commitment that he wanted nothing whatsoever to do with whatever they were doing. They could still, of course, rely on him at the Skyforge. Sonja called a hurried thank you after his retreating back. They were out the back of Jorrvaskr, hammering arrows into an already rather destroyed dummy.

After Thorald had gone, Sonja could tell that Nebia had a question bubbling up inside her. She waited and tried to keep her mind on the arrow, the target, the tension in her arm. She took her shot and the arrow went way high, over the wall and out of the city. She waited for Nebia to laugh, but she seemed not to have noticed.

Nebia looked up towards the Skyforge, lowered her bow, and said, “This might be a kinda rude question, but...”

Sonja wanted to ask since when had Nebia started caring about that, but held her tongue.

“What happened to Thorald? He moves older than he seems. When he’s got his sleeves up at the forge I can see them scars. I ain’t seen nothin like that before. And I’ve seen some shit.”

Sonja lowered her own bow. She wondered how many people knew the story. Skyrim was so bad at keeping any story to itself, and yet she still found herself repeating them.

“I’ve only heard him tell it once,” said Sonja. She looked up towards the Skyforge and kept her voice low. “He was kidnapped by the Thalmor. Years ago. They tortured him. I don’t know why. The Dragonborn went and got him out.”

“Course she did,” snorted Nebia. “You ever hear a story where there’s a point a hero oughta jump right in, there she fuckin is.”

“Maybe,” said Sonja. After all the conflicting reports over the Forsworn incidents in Markarth that she’d heard, growing up, she had little faith in there being much truth to any of the stories. They both turned at the sound of the door opening. Irileth stepped out.

“Somewhere we can talk?” she asked.

Nebia grinned, her serious manner thoroughly vanished. “I know just the place, come on,” she said. She led them downstairs to her room, across the hall from Thaegoth’s. Sonja looked for a little too long at the closed door, knowing the room was empty behind it. Nebia’s room, for some reason, doubled as a disused bar.

“The Nords are ridiculous,” said Irileth, as they dusted off chairs.

“There’s nothing stashed behind there,” said Nebia. “I checked about seventy times.”

“Alright,” said Irileth, when they were all seated. “What have we got to work with? What do we think Nelkir’s done?”

“Stopped messages getting to Dagny,” said Sonja.

“Kidnapped Hrongar,” said Nebia, counting them off on her fingers. “Paid that beggar to pay those bandits to leave him as a snack for that troll in Labyrinthian. Paid those bandits to kill that beggar.” The others looked at her. “What?” she said. “I been thinking about it. Followin the, uh, chain.”

“Only Aela and Thaegoth know where Brenuin is healing up,” said Sonja. “They’d tell us, but he was close to death anyway. Maybe he’s died already.”

“And trying to find specific bandits is a waste of time in this province,” said Irileth. “Crawling like rotting rats in every hole. Got trouble telling them apart on the best of days.”

“We left one, up in Morthal,” said Sonja. “Working her crimes off at the mill.”

Nebia grunted. “Thaegoth’s sympathy is gonna get him killed one of these days,” she said.

“Someone worth having another talk to, maybe,” said Irileth. “But this Imperial, the scout who was stopping the messages, you’ve actually seen him?”

“Oh, he’s guilty alright,” said Nebia. “Just ran into some trouble tryin to get him to admit it. His nose ran into my forehead, was the trouble.”

Irileth was silent for a moment, running her hands through her hair. She sighed.

“Alright,” she said. “That’s our best bet. Go talk to him again, both of you. Get whatever you can out of him, but don’t die. You’re Companions, you got more freedom than I do. Couldn’t do this without you.” She rose. “I’ll go see if Aela will tell me where Brenuin’s holed up.” She left the room without looking back, leaving the door hanging open behind her.

Nebia watched her go. “Do her and… fuck, never mind,” she said. “Let’s go have a rematch with master broken-nose quaestor whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is.”

“We don’t have to fight him,” said Sonja.

Nebia laughed. “Sure. That’s why I like you, always holding onto that hope.”

Sonja had never thought of herself in that way before, but maybe it was true. There was a certain grim optimism to her actions and thoughts. A persistent belief that things could be better than they were. Or at least slightly less shit.

“Maybe Thaegoth’s doing better than us,” she said, trying not to let the mention of his name bring back all the memories of the previous morning.

 

* * *

 

In truth, that day, Thaegoth’s first full day as Nelkir’s housecarl, passed slowly. Most of it consisted of standing in silence as Nelkir alternatively flattered and insulted various important people of the town, standing in silence as Nelkir read aloud choice pieces in praise of him from the messages sent to him from all across Skyrim, standing in silence as Nelkir argued with Hrongar and Commander Caius about the management of the town. Although with Caius, Thaegoth noted, Nelkir gave in a little more easily. Perhaps there was something imposing about the head of Whiterun’s guard that he wasn’t perceiving, or some history he wasn’t privy to.

Either way, there was little to distract him from the tedium. Even less to discover anything that might be of use to the Companions’ treasonous plot. Nothing other than what they were already aware of. Nelkir was not just a snake, he was also very good at disguising his own negative qualities. His expression shifted, his bearing altered, depending on who he was talking to and what he wanted them to think of him. But inbetween visitors, just for a flash, Thaegoth thought he could see the real face of their new Jarl: formless, blank, hollow.

On that day and on the previous day, Thaegoth noted the presence of Antario, High Queen Elisif’s advisor, remaining in the hall of Dragonsreach for extended periods of time. The Altmer appeared to simply be observing events without intervening, and he gave no indication that he had spoken to Thaegoth and Sonja at the wake/coronation, or even that he’d ever seen him before at all.

It was very late and Nelkir was several drinks down before he finally dismissed Thaegoth. The Jarl staggered off the dais, turning back before he reached the stairs.

“Those Companions of yours,” he said. “I don’t want you associating with them. Not now. You’ve got new responsibilities.”

Thaegoth inclined his head and held his tongue. His legs ached from all the standing around, but he knew that would be as nothing to the exhaustion that Hrongar felt. The old Nord, now steward, sighed and walked slowly over to one of the benches. Thaegoth joined him, sitting opposite. A servant brought them drinks, then vanished. At this late hour, the two guards on duty at the main doors were the only other figures in the hall, too far away to hear their conversation.

“That elf in the robes,” said Thaegoth, not wanting to give away too much. “Who is he?”

Hrongar finished his drink in one long gulp. “Antario,” he said, burping. “Advisor to Elisif. Some say the two of them’re... well, I don’t. He fought alongside the Dragonborn at the Battle of Helgen.”

“When the dragons came back?” asked Thaegoth, though he knew both stories already.

“Later,” said Hrongar, “much later. Thalmor were trying to pull off another Oblivion Crisis, up in the ruins. Antario was ex-Thalmor himself, so the story goes. Dragonborn got a bunch together, went up there and sorted it out. Went into Oblivion itself, if you can believe that.”

“The Dragonborn went into Oblivion?” said Thaegoth. He hadn’t heard that part of the story before.

“Handful of ‘em did,” said Hrongar. “Her and the Archmage—whassisname, the orc—and Antario, couple of others. Came back, the gate closed, saved the day. It’s said, whatever happened to the Dragonborn on the other side, it changed her. She was the never the same afterwards. Wouldn’t talk to anyone. Vanished a while later.”

“Nobody knows where she went?”

“There are stories. Solstheim, some of them come from. Plenty think she’s dead.”

“But you?”

“I saw her fight, back in the Civil War.” His mouth curled bitterly at the memory. “Rebels tried to take Whiterun. She stopped them. I’ve never seen anything like it. She can’t have been mortal. Even without that Voice of hers, she was unstoppable.”

“But Antario,” insisted Thaegoth, “he went through too.”

“There’s a book about it, somewhere,” said Hrongar. “Never much of a one for reading, myself. The Archmage fellow wrote it all up, afterwards.”

Thaegoth made a mental note to find a copy. Where did one buy books in Whiterun? Probably Belethor would have some, but he hated to spend time anywhere near that creep and his general store.

“And now Antario’s here,” he said.

“Keeping an eye on things for Elisif,” said Hrongar. He angled his voice lower, but there was the hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth. “Nelkir hates him, but he can’t go against the High Queen.”

Thaegoth paused then, struck with a sudden uncertainty. Could he count on Hrongar’s support, if things got hairy? He tapped at the table and decided to hold back, for now. Too early, he thought. He rose, and wished the steward goodnight.

Upstairs, Thaegoth had his own room. It was clean and quiet and generally in all respects far nicer than his room in Jorrvaskr had been. Yet he could not get comfortable in it. He curled up in bed and thought of Sonja’s face inches from his own, of his own cowardice and foolishness. He felt cold, but put out the lantern. Whatever the cost to his heart, this, for now, was where he had to be.


	31. Catacombs

Thaegoth was right that he wouldn’t sleep. He didn’t know how many hours had passed, but he decided it was time to break one of his new boss’ rules. He rose, slipped into his plain clothes, and decided to pay a visit to Jorrvaskr.

He kept his footsteps silent as he made his way through the cavernous dark hall of Dragonsreach, but the guards at the doors could see him coming as soon as he reached the base of the stairs. One of them opened a door to him without a word, just wide enough for him to slip through. It made him wonder. Who else from the court of Whiterun was prone to slipping down to the town in the dead of night? So often that it was taken as a matter of course by the guards.

Thaegoth crossed the bridge and paused at the top, looking down over the sleeping town. Smoke rose from chimneys and guards continued on their patrols, but otherwise Whiterun was still and quiet. He took his time as he went down the stairs and between the buildings, across to the hall of the Companions.

He turned his key and went inside. The hall was near-dark, only a few faint coals left in the cooking pit. But he was used to working in such conditions. He couldn’t detect any movement there, so he slipped over to the stairs and went down. There was a lantern burning on the end table, almost burned out completely. He held it up and trod down the corridor.

The place was silent. There was no light from under Sonja’s door. He breathed in and out several times, trying to steady himself. He had no idea what he’d say when she opened the door. He knocked twice and received no answer. He frowned and knocked again. Still nothing.

To his left there was the noise of a door opening and Irileth appeared around the corner, wrapped in a blanket and wielding a dagger.

“Fuck, Thaegoth, it’s so late,” she said.

“I wanted to, uh,” he said. He wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to do.

“Sonja’s not here,” said Irileth. “Her and Nebia went up to find that Imperial again.” She looked back the way she’d come. From Aela’s room, Thaegoth realised. Oh, he thought.

“I better go,” he said.

Irileth, frowning, stood by to let him past. “Are you and her…?”

“What?” said Thaegoth. “No. I mean, no. I mean, I should’ve, and… I’m a fool and a coward and I thought she’d be here but I don’t know and—”

“Alright,” said Irileth. “She’ll be back tomorrow, most likely. Get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” said Thaegoth, remembering to breathe. “You too.”

Irileth just laughed and went back through the door that led to Aela’s office and her bedroom beyond. She closed the door behind her. Thaegoth was left alone in the corridor. His lantern died halfway up the stairs and he stubbed his toe, cursing. He was cold and tired but the prospect of going back to his room in Dragonsreach was too much to deal with. Instead, he exited Jorrvaskr and headed for the Bannered Mare.

There was always a fire going in Whiterun’s favourite tavern. Despite the hour, there were still a half-dozen patrons in various stages of drunkenness, and the bard doing a slow version of a song Thaegoth had been long enough in Skyrim to recognise as Tale of the Tongues.

He found a stool at the bar and ordered a drink from Saadia. He turned on the stool, leaned his elbows back on the bar and drank, let himself be washed away with the song and the tale it told, let himself not think of anything else. He knew he would have to talk to Sonja when she returned, if they could get a moment alone. The prospect of it made him feel a lightness down in his gut. Nerves, he thought. Or hunger. Must be.

He was most of the way through his drink and was reluctantly considering heading back to Dragonsreach, when Antario came down from the upstairs room. The Altmer advisor did not make eye contact, but smiled pleasantly at all he passed and took the stool next to Thaegoth’s, though facing the other way. He ordered a goblet of wine and talked to Saadia as if they had known each other for years.

“A pleasant night, is it not?” asked Antario, after Saadia had moved out of earshot. His voice was quiet, but not a whisper, and there was nothing sneaky or suspicious about his tone.

“For some, perhaps,” said Thaegoth.

“Ah,” said Antario. “It must be cold indeed with you, if the warmth of the Bannered Mare does nothing for you.”

“Why are you really still here?” asked Thaegoth, trying to say it as casually as possible. Antario smiled and took a drink.

“Although there is sometimes too much noise,” he said, as if Thaegoth had not spoken. “Sometimes one does long for a quieter place to talk.”

Thaegoth understood. He rose, finished his drink, and as he was leaning back to slide gold across the bar, said, “Indeed. As an antidote I often pay my respects in the Hall of the Dead.”

“A comforting idea,” said Antario. “May the rest of your night bring you peace.”

Thaegoth nodded, and left the tavern. He trod in silence across Whiterun, noticing the patterns of the guards on patrol. He knew how to appear that he had nothing to hide. Either way, those he passed merely nodded at him with respect. He was housecarl now, he remembered.

The Hall of the Dead was empty. Still, Thaegoth went with his hand on his swordhilt as he trod the catacombs. He did a circuit of the place in the same way that Irileth had done, when he’d met her there and she’d told him her suspicions that Jarl Balgruuf had been murdered. He placed himself at the bottom of the main stairs, and waited.

It was more than half an hour before Antario arrived. Thaegoth had grown cold and had his arms wrapped tight around his torso. The scattering of candles that were lit near various crypts were not enough to provide any warmth.

“We are alone?” asked Antario, looking around the catacombs. Thaegoth nodded. “Good. My apologies for the delay, I felt it best to leave a considerable gap between our departures to avoid any association between us.”

“Are things that bad?” asked Thaegoth.

“I am, in part, here to determine if they are,” said Antario. “My Queen has concerns about Nelkir’s ability to function as Jarl. She instructed me to remain, either to allay those concerns, or confirm them.”

“And so far?”

“So far?” Antario shook his head. “So far I have seen a man—no, a child—push all expertise as far from himself as possible, appoint entirely unsuitable replacements, and generally run this hold as if it is some personal toy that, if he merely hits it enough, will function in the manner he desires.”

“Hard to believe it has only been two days,” said Thaegoth.

“Indeed,” said Antario, folding his arms. “And do not think I meant to insult your capabilities with my reference to unsuitable replacements. I have heard only complimentary tales concerning your physical abilities. I mean only that your temperament, in fact the temperament of anyone who would join the Companions, is likely to be unsuitable for the role of housecarl.”

“No insult,” said Thaegoth, waving a hand. “You’re right, anyway. The job’s tedious.”

“All jobs are, at times,” said Antario, smiling. “I am sure even the Companions have periods where there are no giants to kill.”

“I’ve never seen a giant,” said Thaegoth.

“They care nothing for our troubles,” said Antario. “It is best to leave them be. But I do not think you recommended this place for us to discuss this province’s larger inhabitants.”

Thaegoth paused. Again he scanned the catacombs for anyone watching. He saw only the dead. He was used to breaking the law, why did this feel so different?

“These... inadequacies,” he said. “That you’ve observed. What do you plan on doing about them?”

“Officially?” said Antario. “Nothing. There is nothing I can do.”

“And unofficially?”

Antario smiled. “Unofficially,” he said, “it has been many a year since I was involved in something like this. Intrigue, however, you might say, is a specialty of mine. Unofficially, my Queen does not believe Nelkir to be a capable Jarl. Unofficially, if you are... working to produce information that would put him in a less than positive light, let us say, and you require some assistance in that process, I am positioned to provide that assistance.”

Thaegoth breathed out. Someone in Antario’s position seemed like they ought to be useful, but he could not think of anything specific that could be done at present. Still, every connection was valuable—a lesson from his Guild days, he remembered. And it would be nice to have an ally within Dragonsreach.

“You ought to tell me as little as possible,” added Antario. “What you are working on, your allies in this endeavour. Keep me in the dark, as they say. Tell me only what I need to know. I cannot openly aid you. Indeed, we should not be seen together, if it can be helped. Is there something you require at present?”

Thaegoth ran through the various stumbling blocks that the Companions had run into. He couldn’t see how Antario could help them get over any of them. Maybe...

“Could you dig into Nelkir’s past?” asked Thaegoth. “I feel like I’ve missed so much, only arriving now.”

“There is much to Skyrim’s history, it is true,” said Antario. “I will make some discrete enquiries and present you with a compact history of the Balgruuf clan in Whiterun.”

“Thank you,” said Thaegoth. Maybe if he could just understand Nelkir, there would be some way forward. He frowned. “How long have you been in Skyrim?”

“Some seven years now,” said Antario. “Fleeing across the border in the dead of night, some unknowable pursuer on my trail. I came here, first.”

“Sounds familiar,” said Thaegoth. The two elves smiled at each other. Thaegoth had been in Skyrim... less than two months, he realised, but already so much had happened, his old life felt so far behind.

“This place is sometimes exactly what one needs,” said Antario. “When you are free to speak again, or require my assistance in some other matter, sit again at the bar in the Bannered Mare, and I will meet you here again.”

He gave a short bow, which Thaegoth returned, but did not move to leave. Best they weren’t seen leaving together, Thaegoth realised. He was about to offer to stay for a while, when Antario spoke.

“I will linger,” he added, “and pay my respects to the dead.”


	32. Rematch

As Thaegoth was settling into his new room in Dragonsreach, standing bored stiff at the side of Nelkir’s throne, and sneaking down into the Hall of the Dead to meet Antario, Sonja and Nebia headed south. Down out of Whiterun and into Falkreath Hold, then up into the mountains that separated Skyrim from Cyrodiil. There was no snow falling as they made tracks towards the camp where they’d last seen the Imperial quaestor and his fellow scouts, but there was a thick white blanket over the road and their going was slow.

Nebia cursed a great deal, cursed the weather, cursed the mountains, cursed Nelkir. Sonja just focussed on her own footsteps as the rock walls rose jagged and tall on both sides of the path. She rattled the past around in her head until the words came tumbling out against her will.

“I almost kissed Thaegoth,” she said.

Nebia broke off her cursing to laugh. They kept stomping through the snow as she said, "We were wonderin if you did, before he left. Runnin out of the room like you’d die if you didn’t get a taste of that sweet sweet Thaegy.”

Sonja had to laugh too. Nebia’s mockery was never mean, she’d noticed. She’d make fun of anyone who came within striking distance, but among the Companions, there was less venom to it, and a care behind it. Sonja wondered if it had been the same among Nebia’s old bandit crew.

“Wait, what d’you mean with this almost?” said Nebia. “I don’t wanna hear about almost, I wanna hear about flesh on flesh, screamin in the night, and—”

“I chickened out,” said Sonja. She frowned for a moment. “Or, he did. Or, we both did. I don’t know.”

Nebia laughed again. “You’re both fools,” she said. “Nothin’s ever gonna happen if you keep on like that.”

“It’s hard,” said Sonja, feeling defensiveness slip into her tone. “The way we are, and I barely know him, really.”

“You know him well enough,” said Nebia. “Fighting with someone’s a good way of speedin up the familiarity shit. What d’you mean, the way we are?”

“I mean... us, the Companions. Not the easiest life to have and maintain some kind of... relationship.”

“Relationship?” said Nebia. “Who’s talkin about a relationship? Just fuck him already.”

Later, Sonja couldn’t believe she’d said this, but there it was in the air: “Maybe I just will.”

Nebia laughed, wished her well, and they stomped on through the snow. When they reached the place where they had previously encountered the quaestor and his fellow scouts, however, they found it unoccupied. Snow had long since covered any tracks or signs of a recent camp. Nebia went back to cursing.

Back on the path, they went further towards Cyrodiil, investigating every nook and cranny in the mountains, backtracking in search of any trace. They questioned every traveller, asking after an Imperial legionnaire with a broken nose. Sonja used every piece of hunting knowledge that Aela had taught her, and still, there was nothing. The afternoon stretched on into evening, and they were forced to retreat. Back down out of the mountains into Falkreath, out of the snow and under the trees to make camp.

They made a fire just off the road, near a place Nebia said was called Halldir’s Cairn. Two stone pillars marked a cave entrance, but she refused to go in.

“Heard bad tales bout that place,” she said.

Sonja shrugged. The weather wasn’t bad enough to push the issue. There was a chill in the air, but it was always less in Falkreath, the mountains all around sheltering it from the worst. They sat alongside each other on a fallen log and roasted the meat Nebia had packed. Sonja had been too focussed to think of such things—and she knew Aela would reproach her, if she’d known—but Nebia never forgot food.

“Good bein out,” she said.

Sonja looked at her friend. It was so easy to forget that she’d once been a bandit. Always finding refuge from the cold in caves or ruins—Skyrim had no end of ruins—never being able to trust your fellow criminals, always looking over your shoulder for guards or the Legion.

“Do you miss it?” Sonja asked.

Nebia spat a bit of gristle into the fire. “Nah,” she said. “Buncha bastards, really. Nice sleepin somewhere where I don’t got to worry about bein stabbed in the night. Still,” she added, “might wanna keep your door unlocked if you want Thaegy to come callin.”

“Do you call him that to his face?”

Nebia laughed. “Shit, I don’t know. I oughta, that’s for sure. Often as—” She looked into the night, then stood up in a rush, her mace in her hand. “You gonna just sit out there and perv or come and fuckin join us?” she called out.

Sonja rose too, drawing her sword. There wasn’t time to get her shield before an Imperial legionnaire strode into the firelight, a bandage standing out across his nose. Behind him came four more. He smiled at the Companions.

“Nice to see you back in this neck of the woods, isn’t it?” he said. “Well, I must welcome you, mustn’t I? Wouldn’t want to shirk on hospitality, eh lads?” His cronies laughed. “Good to see you again,” he added, addressing Nebia. “Glad to see you’ve brought a little friend along for the rematch.”

“I see what you meant,” murmured Sonja. She probably would have broken his nose very quickly too. “We don’t want violence,” she said, speaking louder. “We just want to know who paid you to stop messages getting through to Dagny.”

“Don’t we want violence?” said Nebia, swinging her mace back and forth.

“I am outraged,” said the Imperial quaestor. “The very suggestion that I, a member of his Imperial majesty’s scouts, could be bribed? It beggars the very beliefs at my core, it does.” He started rounding the fire towards them, on Sonja’s side. “Even if such a preposterous accusation were to be true, why would I tell you two nobodies? That would be amateurish. Not very good corruption at all, hmm?”

“So it is true,” said Sonja.

The quaestor just smiled. Nebia rolled her eyes.

“He’s waitin for you to offer gold,” she said. “Can we just hit him?”

“No,” said Sonja. She had a few pieces on her, but not as much as she thought the quaestor would require. “We can’t just go around beating up Imperial soldiers.”

“What if we agree?” asked the quaestor. “A brawl, then? And if you win, I’ll tell you all that you wish to know. Everything within my power, of course.”

Sonja looked at him for a long time. She couldn’t read his smile, and turned briefly to look at Nebia, who shrugged.

“He’s just lookin for an excuse to grope you,” she said.

“Now there I must protest,” said the quaestor. “My record is certainly clear of any of that kind of blemish. And what kind of milk-drinker would I be if I stood here and let my good name be dragged through the mud because—”

“I’ll do it,” said Sonja. She sheathed her sword and let the scabbard drop to the dirt. The quaestor gestured to his troop.

“Oh, was I not clear?” he said. “I meant all of us at once.”

Sonja looked at Nebia, who nodded. Sonja reached for the quaestor with one hand while reaching for her dagger with the other. In one movement she spun him around and pressed the blade against his throat. He squirmed, but she held tight.

“Nebia, clobber anyone who gets too close,” she said.

“On it,” she said. She swung her mace back and forth a few times at the other scouts, who were drawing their weapons. “What counts as ‘close’ for me may be a little wider than what it counts for you.”

“Use your own judgement,” said Sonja, through her teeth. She turned her attention to the quaestor. “Someone paid you to stop messages getting to Dagny,” she said, hating him for the position he’d put her in. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” blubbered the quaestor. “He never gave a name, he was clearly acting for somebody else.”

Some of the scouts edged closer. Nebia lunged and bashed one of them on the knee. He howled and limped back.

“Then tell us what he looked like,” said Sonja. “Young, dark-haired?”

“What?” said the quaestor. “No. Older Nord. Grey and balding. Scar under his eye. Left, I think. He was wearing a big cloak, I couldn’t tell anything else.”

Sonja pulled her dagger away and flung the quaestor. He stumbled, squealing over the fire, scattering coals, and into the arms of the other scouts. She levelled the point of her blade at him as he staggered upright. A threat would be the right sort of thing here, she thought.

“If you’re lying to me,” she said, “we’ll find you.”

“And we won’t be so fuckin nice,” said Nebia.

“Back,” hissed the quaestor, gesturing frantically. He and the other scouts backed out of the firelight and were gone. Sonja could hear them stumbling and arguing as they went.

“Our Imperial Majesty’s glorious armed forces,” said Nebia, laughing. “You recognised who he was talkin about, didn’t you?”

Sonja strapped on her swordbelt. She sighed. “Guess it was too much to hope for that Nelkir does his own dirty work.” He’d used Brenuin the beggar, she remembered. And he’d gotten near-killed for his troubles. She crouched and started packing what little things there were to pack. “We need to get back to Whiterun.”

“Slow down,” said Nebia, grabbing Sonja’s arm. “Who was he talkin about?”

“The scar,” said Sonja. “Under the eye. I was a kid in Markarth when he got it, but... at the siege of Whiterun, I heard. It’s Commander Caius.”

“That old bastard who runs the guard?” said Nebia. “The fuck’s he doing runnin errands for a brat like Nelkir?”

“I don’t know,” said Sonja. She thought of Thaegoth, up there in Dragonsreach, surrounded by an increasing number of enemies. “But we might be in over our heads.”


	33. Dishonoured Guests

Sonja and Nebia got back to Jorrvaskr in the early hours of the morning, just as dawn was making its way over the mountains to the east. Inside the hall they found Charos, pacing back and forth. Both Aela and Irileth were present, sitting at breakfast, their hair untidy and their clothes disarranged, studiously ignoring their guest.

“What’s he doin here?” asked Nebia, heading for the food.

“Irileth let him in,” said Aela. She was sitting hunched and low in her chair, while Irileth leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“The man was clearly distressed,” said Irileth. “I made the call that—”

“You did, didn’t you?” said Aela. “Didn’t realise this was your hall.”

“Didn’t realise it was yours,” said Sonja, without thinking. Before she could take it back, Irileth laughed.

“Teach them to have a spine in their backs and eventually they’ll use it on you, Aela,” she said. She leaned over and, to everyone’s amazement, mussed the Harbinger’s hair. “Don’t mind this one,” continued Irileth, “she’s just grumpy she got dragged out of bed.”

Sonja didn’t know what to say, which was fortunate, because Aela was looking at her like she really didn’t want her to say anything. Nebia laughed. Charos kept pacing.

Sonja moved closer to him, folded her arms, and asked, “What is it, Charos?”

“They’re going to kill her,” he said.

“This’s Skyrim,” said Nebia. “You’re gonna have to get more specific.”

Charos was finally still and looked directly at her.

“Nelkir. Is going to kill Dagny.”

Irileth rose and approached. “You heard him say this?”

Charos looked away. “No,” he said. “It is... a feeling.”

“How conclusive,” said Aela.

She and Charos glared at each other. Though the bodyguard was massive, Sonja would still have put her money on Aela, if it had come to blows. Sonja positioned herself between them and held her hands loosely by her sides. Non-threatening, she thought. As much as she toyed with the idea of slapping both of them.

“Nelkir would kill us all if he thought it’d keep him on the throne,” said Irileth.

“He does seem the murderin type,” said Nebia, around a mouthful. “I’ve seen his kind before. All smiles as they trick your friends into stabbin you in the back.”

“He’d need an excuse,” said Aela. “Even with Dagny being hated by the whole town, she’s still Balgruuf’s blood. Plenty wouldn’t be happy.”

“They would if he made it look like she was trying to kill him,” said Sonja.

Aela shook her head. “You find anything with that scout?” she asked.

“Thought you weren’t getting involved,” said Sonja. Aela glared at her again, so Sonja spoke quickly. “He said it’s Caius who came and paid for the stopping of the letters to Dagny.”

“Caius?” asked Irileth. “He’s an old bastard, but...”

“The guard captain with the scar, just here?” asked Charos, indicating with the edge of his palm the location of Caius’ war wound. “He is a hateful man.”

“Seen a lot of Whiterun, have you?” asked Aela.

“I am quiet,” said Charos, shrugging. “Though this Caius’ guards continue to remove me from the great hall.”

“If only we could get a message to Thaegoth,” murmured Sonja, only half sure she was speaking out loud.

“Caius always hated Dagny,” said Irileth, quietly. “He used to call her a brat when Balgruuf wasn’t listening. Once I caught him trying to convince her that she was a bastard, gotten from some travelling whore.”

There was silence in Jorrvaskr for a moment before Nebia said, “Right, we can kill him though, can’t we? Come on.”

“Not yet,” said Sonja.

“See, you can channel your sexual frustration into murder!” said Nebia.

“What?” said Aela.

“I have spoken to that Altmer,” said Charos. “Antario. He uses many long words, but I think he is good. He could get a message to your Thaegoth.”

Sonja protested: “He’s not my—”

“No,” said Aela. “We’ve already gotten too many people involved.”

“What’s that elf still doin here anyway?” asked Nebia.

It was then that one of the front doors to Jorrvaskr swung open and Thorald entered the hall. He paused, saw Charos, and quickly closed the door behind him.

“What’s he doing here?” asked Thorald.

“Skyrim is a place of foolish questions, I have found,” said Charos. Looking at their smith, however, Sonja was struck with a sudden idea.

“Thorald,” she said, “have you finished that new sword you were making for Thaegoth?”

Thorald frowned at the change of topic. “Near to it,” he said. “Day or two, perhaps. Have to lug it up to Dragonsreach now he’s got himself a new position.”

“Do that,” said Sonja. “And hide a message in it for him.”

Thorald stared into the middle distance. “I suppose I could add some extra bindings to the handle, slip it under there.”

“Good,” said Sonja. “I’ll have it ready for you.”

“You a good liar, Thorald?” asked Nebia, turning on her seat. “You gotta let Thaegoth know there’s a hidden message without givin the game away to little Nelkir.”

Thorald gave her a hard look. “I didn’t crack under the Thalmor. I can handle Nelkir.” He turned and left the hall. Sonja was already heading down to her room for paper and ink. Nebia caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs.

“What are you going to put in the message?” she asked.

Sonja counted the items off on her fingers. “What we found out about Caius, tell him to be careful, tell him what Charos said, maybe look for some way to get Dagny out of her cell.”

“I’m all for a nice jailbreak,” said Nebia, “but that’s not what I meant. You gonna add anythin a little more”—she paused and leaned closer—“intimate.”

Sonja grinned and realised she was blushing. “I can’t think of the right words, but... something romantic.”

Nebia rolled her eyes. “Also not what I meant, but whatever gets your boat floated, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

It was very late that night before Thaegoth got a moment’s peace. He’d noticed a pattern in Nelkir’s behaviour—though it was impossible not to be aware of it, he thought. The Jarl got drunk, every night. His belligerence would increase as the hours crawled by, until either Thaegoth or Hrongar had to nearly carry their lord up to his room. This time, it had been Hrongar’s turn, so Thaegoth took the opportunity to slip downstairs to the dungeon.

He got past the guard at the base of the stairs by telling them he was there to question the prisoners on the Jarl’s orders. Only two cells were occupied, alongside each other. Dagny was lying on her bed, awake. Her head turned at Thaegoth’s arrival.

“You don’t know me,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I mean, my name’s Thaegoth.”

“I know who you are,” said Dagny. She was still in the clothes she’d been wearing when they arrested her and there was the thick pungent smell that Thaegoth knew was common to all dungeons. She swung her legs off the bed and came over to the bars. “The guards aren’t sure of you, housecarl.”

Thaegoth should have guessed that his appointment would be the subject of gossip. Maybe Skyrim wasn’t so far removed from the Imperial City after all.

“Besides,” added Dagny, “Sonja spoke of you, on the carriage ride north.”

“She did? What did she say?” asked Thaegoth, before he could stop himself.

A tired smile came onto Dagny’s face. “I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun,” she said.

There was a noise from the neighbouring cell and Thaegoth turned to see two kids grinning at him. The two kids him and Sonja had arrested from that farm, on the night they’d first met. It seemed so long ago. Had they really been here that whole time? What was the sentence for cabbage-thievery? Galt and Maeve, he remembered their names were.

“Oh, you know these two?” asked Dagny. “They’ve been keeping my spirits up.”

“He arrested us,” said Galt.

“We’ve never been arrested by anybody so nice before,” said Maeve.

“Sonja said you had some morals,” said Dagny.

“You said you’d get us a job,” said Galt. Maeve hit him.

“Shut up,” she said. “Why’d he get us a job? He works for the Jarl.”

Dagny beckoned Thaegoth closer. He smiled at the two kids—neither of them could be more than thirteen, he thought, maybe twins?—and stepped right up to the bars. Dagny’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“I think Nelkir’s going to kill me,” she said. “I can’t think of anyone who’ll speak in my defence. Charos, but nobody here will listen to him.”

“The Companions are working on it,” said Thaegoth. He had to assume they were, anyway. He realised he hadn’t seen Sonja for days.

“Even if I get free,” said Dagny, “and Nelkir is… gone, the people of Whiterun hate me. How can I rule them?”

Thaegoth couldn’t think of an answer to that. If Nelkir was gone, who else could rule but Dagny? He didn’t know enough about how the political systems of Skyrim functioned. Antario would know, he thought, if they could get another chance to speak privately. He heard noises on the stairs and moved quickly across, to stand in front of Galt and Maeve’s cell.

“We need to tell you something,” said Maeve.

“We can’t tell him, he works for the Jarl, you said,” said Galt.

“We gotta tell somebody,” said Maeve. “You wanna go back to—”

Commander Caius entered the dungeon.

“The hells do you think you’re doing, elf?” he called out.

Thaegoth turned, and rested his hand on the pommel of his elven sword. “I have an interest in these two’s rehabilitation,” he said. “Having been partly responsible for their arrest, I thought—”

“Rehabilitation?” said Caius, drawing out each syllable like he’d never heard the word before. “They’re sewer rats. Irredeemable.” He spat into their cell. “Compassion won’t keep you in your job long, elf. Us Nords used to having thicker skins.”

Thaegoth hesitated. He was reasonably sure that he could kill Caius in seconds, but that really wouldn’t keep him in his own job for long. “It is late,” he said. “I must retire.” He looked at Galt and Maeve for a moment, trying to assure them with his expression that he’d return. He tried to do the same for Dagny, but she’d gone back to her bed, and was staring emptily at the ceiling. Thaegoth knew he’d soon be doing the same.


	34. Message in the Blade

A few days after descending to speak with Dagny and the twins, tedium had set in for Thaegoth. There he was, once again standing by Nelkir’s throne, as the Jarl belittled anybody who came near him, and outright insulted those who didn’t. The further away the person was, Thaegoth noticed, the larger the insults. High Queen Elisif received a great deal of the vitriol—although the worst of it was delivered out of Antario’s hearing.          

A break was in sight, however, as the doors edged open and Thorald came cautiously into the hall. Thaegoth smiled at the smith as he approached, and Thorald returned it, small and hesitant. He came in his slow careful way up to the dais.

“What is it, Thorald?” asked Jarl Nelkir. “I’m very busy.”

“A gift for your housecarl,” said Thorald, pulling a sword in a scabbard into view from behind him. “Commissioned of me and cooled just this morning. I do not believe I have ever done finer work.”

“Not saying much,” said Nelkir. “And that scabbard’s nothing special. Let’s see it, then. Has to be better than that elven thing he’s been lugging around.”

In truth, Thaegoth had no personal attachment to his current sword, looted somewhere on his flight from the Imperial City. But Nelkir’s casual dismissal of his heritage made him stand stiff and stare up into the high corners of Dragonsreach, not trusting himself to meet anyone’s eyes. It was only at the sound of the new sword being drawn from its scabbard, and Hrongar’s low whistle, that drew Thaegoth’s eyes back down.

Thorald’s arm was shaking as he held the new blade, but its magnificence was still clear to all. Shining steel reflected the torchlight, revealing the slight golden tint of moonstone as Thorald tilted it back and forth. The guard and handle were done in a design that melded both Nordic and Elven imagery, such that it was close to both but could have passed for neither.

“Well, take it then,” said Nelkir, peering into his empty goblet.

Thaegoth descended the dais and gently took the sword from Thorald. It balanced perfectly in his hand, though there was something off, something lumpy, in the wraps over the handle.

“Those can be adjusted, if you wish,” said Thorald in a low voice. “Later.”

Thaegoth caught the pointed look and nodded. He stepped back and gave the sword a few experimental swings. He’d seen much finer swords in his Guild days, much fancier and more prized, but never had he beheld anything crafted for him specifically.

“Thank you,” he said, feeling his throat tighten somewhat with emotion. Thorald smiled and handed over the scabbard. “You might as well take this,” added Thaegoth, unbuckling his old sword and passing it to Thorald.

“Looks a bit thin, doesn’t it?” asked Nelkir.

Thorald opened his mouth to speak, but Thaegoth briefly laid a hand on his shoulder and turned to face the Jarl.

“I am better able to defend your lordship if I can move quickly,” he said. “You would not wish me encumbered with some heavy warhammer, would you, sluggish and out of my element?”

There was a moment of silence, and Thaegoth wondered if he had pushed Nelkir too far. But the Jarl waved his hand, Thorald bowed and left the hall, and Thaegoth resumed his place on the dais, his new sword at his side. His fingers cast lightly over the bulge in the handle, and he suppressed a smile.

“Nothing on old Eorlund’s work,” mumbled Nelkir. “It’ll do, I suppose.”

The rest of the day was spent listening to Nelkir and Hrongar argue over the former’s spending. The Jarl’s uncle, while a solid soldier, was not cut out for managing finances, and the ledgers, as far as Thaegoth could understand them, were becoming increasingly unbalanced, muddled, and filled with gaps.

It wasn’t until late that night, alone in his bolted room in Dragonsreach, that Thaegoth allowed himself to unwrap the handle of his new sword and let the tiny folded parchment drop onto his bed. He stared at it for a moment. There was a sharp feeling in his chest at this, the tiniest sign of Jorrvaskr, and of Sonja. He sat, made himself breathe, and, lingering over each movement, unfolded the parchment.

It was in Sonja’s hand, he knew immediately. He cautioned himself—had he actually seen Sonja’s writing before? It didn’t matter. He knew it was her, and from the tone of the opening lines it was immediately clear anyway. She wrote, in cramped letters, going right up to the edges of the paper, of the new developments. Of what they’d discovered concerning Commander Caius, of their journey up into the mountains. Of the appearance of Charos and his warning as to the danger Dagny was in. Of their idea of getting Dagny out before anything could happen.

That brought Thaegoth to a halt. He was ex-Guild, jailbreaks were one of his areas of expertise. He ran over the layout of the dungeon again in his head. Unless there was some hidden passage he knew nothing of, he couldn’t see how it could be done easily. What would be useful would be the knowledge of a local. He supposed it wouldn’t be that hard to find one of Skyrim’s own Thieves Guild. They’d want something in return, of course. They always did. But since he’d given the Boots of Springheel Jak to Mirath, Thaegoth had nothing to fear from the Guild, not that they’d received word from his own Guild to apprehend him—that debt was cleared.

It was then that Thaegoth’s eyes drifted back to the message and saw the final lines written there, squeezed against the bottom edge of the paper:

_I wish I’d kissed you before you left._

Thaegoth slumped back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. He turned and, in the lantern light, read the words over again, and again. He knew he had to burn it. If Nelkir or one of the servants found it, the Companions’ work would be undone, and Dagny’s life and more besides might be forfeit. But still Thaegoth read the words over and over.

He sat up, and with careful hands, tore the line from the page. It was thin and prone to tear beyond repair. Several times his heart leapt and he thought he’d ruined it, but his efforts met with success. He folded the tiny strip of parchment and laid it on the handle of his sword. With the wrappings replaced, nobody would be able to tell there was anything there. He hefted the sword and couldn’t feel the impression of the words. But he knew they were there and smiled at their warmth under his hand.

The rest of the message, the details of plots, all incriminating, he burned. He crushed the last of the ashes and swept them away. He slept, at last, his hand resting on his sword handle.


	35. Orsimer Pleasantries

Days passed without remark. Thaegoth mastered the art of seeming like he was engaged in what Nelkir was saying without actually taking any of it in. Sonja pushed herself into distractions, annoying the others with her irrepressible energy, always sparring or darting out of jobs—but never too far from Whiterun.

Charos took up residence in the guest quarters on the ground floor of Jorrvaskr, and gradually, though his mind was still obviously on Dagny, he was drawn into their day-to-day activities. He fought with great calm and composure, and disarmed Sonja and Nebia in short succession until Irileth strapped on her armour and took him down, both of them smiling all the while. Aela sat apart, refusing to be get involved, despite Irileth’s attempts.

One afternoon, still sweating from brawling with Nebia, Sonja answered a knock at the door of Jorrvaskr to reveal an orc woman. Taller than Sonja, the orc stood straight with hair cropped short, dressed in leather armour, and a longsword in the style of her people slung over her back. She bowed.

“My name is Yanakh gra-Domas,” she said. “I will get to the point. I have heard about the reforming Companions. I wish to join.”

Aela, walking past, saw the newcomer and came to stand alongside Sonja.

“You from one of the strongholds?” asked the Harbinger.

Yanakh shook her head. “Not one that you know,” she said. “I have lately called Winterhold home.”

“You a mage?” asked Aela.

“No,” said Yanakh. “Just a fast sword and a fast word. Though I know a few minor healing spells.”

Aela looked at Sonja for a moment. Sonja gave a tiny nod. It’d be good to have someone on hand with healing magic. Though the Temple of Kynareth was a short stone’s throw away from Jorrvaskr, the Companions often suffered wounds out in the field with no help nearby.

“Come through,” said Aela. “We’ll do the test of arms.”

“Don’t you want me—”

Aela cut Sonja off. “Been a while since I’ve done one,” she said.

Behind Jorrvaskr, there was more of an audience than usual. Nebia broke off her archery practice to stand aside and watch. Sonja realised she was still unsure of Irileth and Charos’ actual status. They hadn’t come on jobs, but lived and ate and fought with the rest of them. Were they Companions? Anyway, there they all were, assembled as Yanakh smoothly drew her sword and circled Aela, who did the same.

Yanakh had reach on Aela, and as the fight went on, it became clear she had speed on her too, despite her size. After many minutes of neither of them managing to hit each other, Aela called a halt.

“Enough,” she said, turning away. “You’re in. Got a job straight away, if you’re up for it.”

“Of course,” said Yanakh.

“North-east,” said Aela. “Near Shimmermist Cave. Bears been troubling travellers. Sonja, take her.”

Sonja smiled briefly at Yanakh, then followed Aela inside.

“If something happens,” she protested, “I need to be here.”

“Nelkir’s not going to level the town this afternoon,” said Aela. “Go. And try to talk about something other than Thaegoth.”

Sonja tried to protest, but Aela had vanished downstairs. She got her armour and arms together, and set off with Yanakh.

She tried to explain a few things on the way: that they never did jobs alone, that the Harbinger was more an advisor than a leader, that one of their number was currently busy acting as temporary housecarl to Jarl Nelkir.

“No hierarchy at all, then,” said Yanakh, with satisfaction. “More like a family. This Nelkir, though, I have not heard good things.”

Sonja shook her head. She didn’t want to think about Thaegoth trapped up there with that snake, but it was all that came into her head, every hour of the day and night. To turn her thoughts in a new direction, she asked what Yanakh had heard of the Companions.

“That you are rebuilding after a tragedy,” she said. “And having seen such successful rebuilding in Winterhold and elsewhere, I wished to lend a hand somewhere new.”

“You’re not...”

“From Winterhold?” asked Yanakh. “No. I hail from the south coast of Hammerfell, originally. But lately I have called Winterhold home.” She smiled and inclined her head at a passing guard on the road. “Could you perhaps tell me of the others? Apart from Aela, I was not introduced.”

“Not as many as it seems,” said Sonja. “Irileth, the Dunmer woman, she’s just staying with us.”

“Her and Aela are involved?” asked Yanakh.

“Yes,” said Sonja. “How could you tell?”

Yanakh shrugged. “The way they look at each other. Irileth’s expressions during the fight.”

Sonja was silent for a moment. More signs she’d missed. She wondered, not for the first time, if she’d miscalculated in adding that final line to the message she’d sent in Thaegoth’s sword. But no—that moment they’d shared, before he left, there was no mistaking that. She brought her mind back to Yanakh’s question, though there had been no objection at the silence.

“And Charos, the Redguard, he’s with us because... it’s a long story.”

“There will be time for that,” said Yanakh. “For now, please continue.”

“There’s Nebia, the Nord woman,” said Sonja. She smiled, suddenly realising she could call Nebia a friend. “She was a bandit, once. Thaegoth found her in the arena in Windhelm. She brawls like nobody else I’ve seen.”

“And this Thaegoth would be the last of you?” asked Yanakh. “The temporary housecarl you spoke of?”

“Yes,” said Sonja, finding herself smiling again, in an entirely different way.

Yanakh must have seen it, for she smiled too and said, “Ah, I see.”

“Am I that obvious?” asked Sonja.

“Yes,” said Yanakh.

Any further thoughts Sonja had on the various merits of Thaegoth were cut short as they headed off the main road and towards Shimmermist Cave. Sonja held up a hand for quiet, the pair drew their weapons, and approached. A trio of bears were clustered around the cave entrance, and they all turned at the Companions’ approach.

The fight was bloody and quick. Sonja moved slow, weathering the blows of the great paws upon her shield, while Yanakh darted and rolled, delivering quick cuts to the beasts whenever possible. When it was done, the two of them stood panting over the corpses.

“Shame about the pelts,” said Yanakh. She peered at the fallen bears. “This one, at least, could be salvaged.”

“You can skin it, if you like,” said Sonja, crouching to wipe her sword on the grass.

Yanakh made an approving noise, leaned her own sword against one bear corpse, and drew a knife. With quick expert motions she set about separating the bear’s pelt from its flesh.

“You were saying about Thaegoth?” she asked.

Sonja didn’t know where to begin. “He’s... I don’t know, my words aren’t fancy or anything.”

“That doesn’t make them of any lesser value,” said Yanakh, looking up from her work. "Just speak.”

“Having him away,” said Sonja, “up in Dragonsreach, with gods-damned Nelkir. I can’t... it makes my guts twist up thinking about it. And I can’t not think about it. Every day it’s the same. Only way I can sleep is if I’m exhausted. And the others—”

Yanakh held up a hand. She rose, picked up her sword, and looked northwards. From out of Shimmermist Cave came four figures, clearly bandits. One of them, Sonja thought, in looser robes and no obvious weapon, looked a bit like a mage.

“Thanks for that,” one of the bandits said. “It was getting to be a pain in the arse waiting for them to go hunting every time we wanted to go in or out.”

“And who might you be, then?” asked Yanakh. “So we can tell who we’re being of service to.”

“We’re the Silent Moons,” said a different bandit.

“You heard of them?” asked Yanakh, without taking her eyes off them.

“I have,” said Sonja. Occupying the camp just to the north-west of Whiterun, they were a constant annoyance to the people of the Hold. Now word was the bandits were expanding greatly. “I hear your chief has ambitions,” she added.

“What kind of ambitions?” asked Yanakh.

“You’ll see,” said one of the bandits.

“Hmm,” said Yanakh. “But you won’t. Two each, Sonja?”

“Yes,” said Sonja, hurdling the nearest bear corpse and charging the bandits.

Another quick and bloody fight. Their chief’s ambitions clearly hadn’t done anything for the bandits’ skills. Sonja and Yanakh had taken out one each before the bandits could properly raise their weapons. The one that Sonja had thought looked like a mage turned out, in fact, to be exactly that. They launched a fireball directly at Yanakh. It landed right on her chest, but the flames dissipated and rolled off her.

Stunned, the bandit mage didn’t have time to cast another spell before Yanakh closed the distance and finished them off. Sonja did the same with her last bandit and the pair stood in silence again.

“Silent Moons,” mused Yanakh. “I assume your lack of numbers is why they still exist?”

Sonja nodded, gathering enough breath to speak. “Even before... the Burned Woman, we didn’t have enough for a direct attack on their camp. It’s too well defended.” She gestured at Yanakh. “How’d you, with the...”

Yanakh grinned and tapped at her leather armour. “Got it enchanted,” she said.

“In Winterhold, I guess,” said Sonja.

“You’ve never been?” asked Yanakh. Sonja shook her head. “It is a strange town indeed. Quite unlike anywhere else in Skyrim.”

“Will you be heading back there?” asked Sonja.

Yanakh gave a smaller, gentler smile. “The Archmage can handle himself,” she said. “If the Companions need me, then Whiterun is where I’ll be.”

Sonja looked away. “We do need you,” she said. “Though don’t tell Aela I said that. She’d take every job herself if she could.” Yanakh knelt and went back to the task of skinning the bear. “Things are... reaching some kind of crisis here,” said Sonja. Yanakh nodded, so she continued. To compact the whole story into some easy piece of conversation, something that made sense. If she could do that, she thought, maybe the rest of her problems wouldn’t seem so huge.


	36. The Jarl's Verdict

Thaegoth came down into the main hall of Dragonsreach one evening, filled with purpose. Jarl Nelkir was on his throne, reading a letter. As Thaegoth approached, the Jarl crumpled the letter, stood up, and hurled the letter into the fire.

“My lord,” said Thaegoth, “I wanted to ask you about Dagny.”

Hrongar, on the other side of the dais, looked up sharply. He made a few rushed hand movements, trying to get Thaegoth to shut up, but it was too late.

“Did you?” snapped Nelkir.

“It’s just... she’s been in the dungeon a long time,” said Thaegoth. “I merely wished to know whether—”

“You wished,” said Nelkir. “Carry on doing so.” He stared for a moment off to the side. “But I have dallied too long. It is time for a decision. Come.”

He strode towards the dungeon. Thaegoth and Hrongar looked at each other, then hurried to follow. They caught up with the Jarl as he was going down the stairs.

“It is important for a leader not to be hasty,” Hrongar said, inbetween wheezing breaths as they descended.

“It is important for you to be quiet,” said Nelkir, without turning around. He stopped in front of Dagny’s cell. She was thin and dirty but still had enough energy to rise and glare at her brother. She was clearly holding back an insult. “I’ve been deciding what to do with you,” said Nelkir.

“So decide,” said Dagny.

Nelkir rested his hands on the bars and smiled at her. There was silence for a long time. Then, one of the kids in the next cell—Thaegoth didn’t see which—made a farting noise. Dagny grinned, but Nelkir’s face went blank.

“Death,” he said.

He turned, and strode from the dungeon. Hrongar hurried after, trying to argue for a different course of action. The Jarl walked on as if he did not hear. Thaegoth remained, and met Dagny’s eyes.

“I won’t let that happen,” he said.

“You didn’t come back,” cut in one of the kids, Galt.

“We gotta talk to you,” said the other, Maeve.

“I don’t have time,” said Thaegoth. “Not right now. But I’ll be back.”

Dagny shook her head and moved away from the bars. She slumped back on her bed.

“Nice sword, by the way,” she said.

Thaegoth lingered for a moment, his fingers sliding down the bars, then turned and left the dungeon. He went up to his room, left his sword on his bed, and changed from the leather armour he wore while on duty into plain brown clothes. Nelkir wasn’t in the great hall when he went back down, but Thaegoth wouldn’t have stopped in either case. He left Dragonsreach and headed down into Whiterun. For the idea that was forming in his head, he didn’t want to be slowed down by armour. Or let his distinctive sword give him away.

He slipped into the Bannered Mare and up to the bar. The bartender, Saadia, had served him enough times to know who he was. Although every Companion was known by name in Whiterun and beyond. Something hard to get used to after the incognito of the Guild. He perched on a stool and leaned across when she approached.

“What can I get you?” she asked. “Mead, isn’t it?”

“Actually,” said Thaegoth, dropping his voice to a whisper. Not that it was necessary, for the gathering evening crowd made it impossible to eavesdrop. “I was wondering if you knew how to contact the local Guild.”

No surprise came across Saadia’s face. If anything, she just looked tired.

“They just get bigger and bigger,” she said. She shook her head and leaned closer. “I heard there’s a senior member in town planning something. Breezehome, I heard.”

“The Dragonborn’s house?” asked Thaegoth, his eyebrows shooting up.

“She hasn’t been in town for years,” said Saadia. “But people see lights on upstairs, dark figures slipping in and out.”

Thaegoth nodded and leaned away. “Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t mention it,” said Saadia. She smiled at him and moved away to some other needy customer.

Thaegoth left the inn and headed for Jorrvaskr. Evening was upon Whiterun, and only a few streaks of light were left in the sky to the west. Still, he’d been there long enough now that he never got lost. He eased open one of the front doors of the hall of the Companions and found the whole group at the central table, having dinner. There were Aela and Irileth, sitting very close to one another. There was Nebia, her mouth overfull. There was Thorald, dishing out seconds to those who wanted them. There was Charos, Thaegoth noticed with surprise. And an orc woman he didn’t recognise.

And there was Sonja. She didn’t see him at first, occupied in smiling at some story Irileth was telling. But Aela’s eyes had snapped up as soon as the door opened, and soon everybody was looking at Thaegoth. Nobody moved until he closed the door behind him.

“Dagny’s been sentenced to death,” he said.

Charos rose, his chair clacking to the floor behind. He strode for the stairs that led downstairs.

“Let me fetch my sword,” he said, “and I will sever that boy’s head from his shoulders.”

Irileth rose and caught him before he’d gotten far.

“Hold on, now,” she said. She looked over at Thaegoth. “Maybe there’s some other way we can solve this.”

“I’m going to talk to the Guild,” said Thaegoth.

Aela rose from her seat. Irileth opened her mouth to speak, but the Harbinger cut her off. “Enough,” she said. “Whatever you’re going to do, I don’t want to hear it.” She pushed past Charos and vanished down the stairs.

Irileth exhaled. “Well, I do,” she said. “One of you tell me later.” She walked back over to the table, picked up her and Aela’s bowls, and headed downstairs. Thaegoth came over to the table and sat in the seat vacated by their Harbinger.

“Well?” asked Nebia. “What’ve you got, Thaegy?”

“Maybe Aela’s right,” said Thaegoth, tearing his eyes away from Sonja for a moment. “Maybe it’s best I do this on my own.” He rose and headed for the door. Sonja stopped him before he got there.

“You’re a fool,” she said.

Nebia burst out laughing. Sonja reddened.

“Sorry, that’s not... that’s not the first thing I wanted to say when you got back,” she said. “I just… we’re the Companions. We do things together.”

Thaegoth felt some of the tension go out of his shoulders. He looked at the floor, then at Sonja. “Maybe…” he said.

“You’re a fool,” said Nebia. “You’re a fool, I’m a fool, we’re all fools. What’s the gods-damned plan?”

“I’m going to talk to the Guild,” said Thaegoth. “See if they’ll help break Dagny out of Dragonsreach.”

“I’m Yanakh, by the way,” said the orc woman, rising to reveal herself as even taller than Sonja. She approached and extended her hand. “You must be Thaegoth. I’ve heard a great deal about you.” Sonja reddened again.

“Uh, sure,” Thaegoth managed to say, as he and Yanakh grasped wrists.

“I am not native to Whiterun,” said Yanakh, “so I cannot help you find your local branch of the Guild. In Winterhold, I could be of more assistance.”

“I know where they are,” said Thaegoth. “Breezehome.”

“What?” said Sonja. “The Dragonborn’s old house?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Well come on then,” she said, and dragged him out the door.

As soon as they were past the outer wall of Jorrvaskr, however, their pace slowed, and Sonja let go of Thaegoth’s hand. There was silence between them as they trod down towards Breezehome. The house was boarded up, and Sonja’s knock at the door elicited no response. However, as they trod around the house, Thaegoth noticed slivers of lamplight coming through the boards on an upstairs window.

Sonja alerted a passing guard to this. The guard didn’t even follow her gesture, just kept their eyes on her.

“You’re mistaken,” said the guard. “Move along now. There’s no lollygagging in Whiterun, even for the Companions.”

Sonja was about to protest when Thaegoth grabbed her and pulled her away, thanking the guard. He guided her down a narrow path until they were ensconced in the shadows near the outer wall of the town.

“Unbelievable,” Sonja was muttering.

“The Guild bribes the guards everywhere,” said Thaegoth. “It’s how they do things.”

“What, is every guard in Skyrim in their pocket?” asked Sonja.

Thaegoth shrugged. “Probably not,” he said. “But enough.”

Both of them noticed then that, this time, they hadn’t let go of each other. Neither of them made a move to do so, either.

“How are we going to get in?” Sonja remembered to ask, making herself look back towards Breezehome.

“Wait until later,” said Thaegoth. “When the guard patrols thin out. Then we’ll go in through the ground-floor window.”

He pointed, revealing the only window that wasn’t boarded up. The glass was dark, but the way was otherwise clear and simple. Sonja cleared her throat and looked at the dark sky and its blanket of stars.

“What shall we do until then?” she asked.

Thaegoth remembered that the kids in Dragonsreach wanted to speak to him. He was about to suggest he sneak back up there, through the side door of the dungeon, and find out what they wanted, when he was distracted by Sonja kissing him.

Their faces only lit by the rising moons, they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. Not enough light to assess a reaction, realised Thaegoth. So he kissed her back. She pushed him up against the wooden wall of Whiterun, tilted his head up, and kissed him again.

Thaegoth broke away, laughing.

“What?” asked Sonja.

“You taste like snowberries,” he said.

“Blame Yanakh,” said Sonja, “she was cooking.”

“I’ll be sure to thank her,” said Thaegoth. His smirk was visible even in that low light. Sonja rolled her eyes and went back to kissing him.

Some time later, the pair emerged, checked for guards and, as quietly as possible, put a rock through the window of Breezehome. Thaegoth cleared away the shards of glass as best he could, then helped Sonja heave herself through.

Whatever small room she emerged in was dark, but the interior door was open and firelight was visible, its source somewhere to the right. Sonja leaned back up and helped Thaegoth in. The small room contained nothing but an alchemy table, a shelf filled with books, and a small bed—though it hadn’t been slept in recently.

Sonja gestured for quiet and this time it was Thaegoth who rolled his eyes. On their way out of the room, however, he tripped and cannoned into Sonja’s back. She staggered but he fell. All of it with gasps and thumps and curses. She pulled him up and kept pulling until they were kissing again, illuminated by the firelight.

There was a cough from the direction of the fire.

“That’s plenty cute and all,” said a voice, “but you wanna explain what you’re doin in my house?”

Sitting in a chair by the fire with her feet up was a female Khajiit, her fur dark brown with black stripes. There were three pale parallel diagonal scars over her snout. She was wearing a style of Guild armour that Sonja hadn’t seen before, black rather than brown, though with no change to the endless array of pockets and compartments.

Thaegoth had left his new sword up in Dragonsreach, and Sonja only had her knife, which she drew. The Khajiit seemed unconcerned.

“You know that window has a latch, right?” she said.

“We, uh, we didn’t check,” said Thaegoth.

“How d’you think I get in and out?” said the Khajiit. “How you ever made it in the Guild I’ll never know.”

“You...” managed Thaegoth.

“Of course I know who you are,” said the Khajiit. “Part of the job, ya know? Also your buddy Mirath popped in to see us. You’re Thaegoth and Sonja, of the illustrious Companions. Good job on the rebuilding, by the way.”

“What?” said Sonja, her voice rising. “What do you care? You’re a fucking thief. And what are you doing in the Dragonborn’s house? Shitting on her legacy.” She took a few steps towards the Khajiit.

The Khajiit rose. She seemed tired, but stood firm.

“I care,” she said, “because the Companions, fools that most of the old ones were, stand for what’s right, even when it’s stupid to do it. S’admirable. We could all learn somethin from ’em.”

“Even the Guild?” asked Thaegoth.

“Specially the Guild,” said the Khajiit. “And... as for this place, you don’t know shit bout the Dragonborn. Most don’t, anymore.” She turned and sunk back into her chair, her tail curling away from the fire. “My name’s Dar’epha, anyway,” she said. “And you’re gonna ask me for help breaking Dagny out of Dragonsreach.”

“That... seems like it would’ve been harder to find out,” said Thaegoth.

Dar’epha waggled her fingers. “Got eyes everywhere,” she said. “And I made some little edumacated guesses.” She shrugged. “Course, I’ll do it. People like Nelkir are bad for business.”

“What’s the cost?” asked Thaegoth. There was always one, with the Guild. He knew that better than most.

“You gotta help me with a job,” she said. “Somethin personal, kinda, else I’d just get one of my learned colleagues to do it. It’s easy. And not illegal, not really. And I’ll throw in some letters that have vanished from Dragonsreach that prove your little Nelkir’s been dealing with your local bandits, the Silent Moons. But you don’t get those til you’ve done your job for me.”

“Done,” said Thaegoth.

“Wait,” said Sonja. She turned to him. “Are we sure about this? Working with the Guild? I thought you’d put that behind you.”

“I don’t plan on making a habit of it,” said Thaegoth. “You want to mount a frontal assault on Dragonsreach? This’ll get Dagny out. Way the Guild operates, it’ll be quick and quiet. Probably they’ve got a regular way in and out of the dungeon.”

They both looked at Dar’epha, who grinned.

“Ah, old Whiterun,” she said. “Pretty simple jailbreak, really. We can even do it tonight, if you like.”


	37. Jailbreak

“Here’s how it is,” said Dar’epha. She leaned forward in her chair, a wide smirk on her face. “There’s a sewer grate in one of the cells—not Dagny’s, the one with those kids.”

“That seems like a setback,” said Sonja, folding her arms. Her and Thaegoth had taken seats across the fire from Dar’epha.

“It’s just the first,” said Dar’epha. “The second is that the only way in and out of the sewer is in the guard’s warehouse. You know, over near the Bannered Mare.”

“Oh, is that what that building is,” said Thaegoth.

“Now, this ain’t really a problem exactly,” said Dar’epha. “Only a coupla guards, I can bribe them to be elsewheres.” She was silent for a moment, looking at the Companions. “Seems only fair that you lot chip in for that.”

“I don’t have any gold on me,” said Thaegoth, immediately.

Dar’epha laughed. “Maybe you were in the Guild,” she said. She looked at Sonja.

“For gods’ sake,” said Sonja. She rummaged in her pockets and handed over several pieces of gold. Dar’epha counted them with quick fingers and the coins vanished into one of her pockets.

“There’s the guards in the dungeon, though,” said Thaegoth, picturing Dragonsreach in his mind.

“Too many to bribe, yeah,” said Dar’epha. “That’s why you, with your fancy housecarl title, will be in the hall, dealin with ’em.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” asked Thaegoth.

“I dunno,” said Dar’epha, “use your imagination. Just get ’em out of there. Us ladies’ll trek through the sewer and come up in one cell, get in the other, be gone real quick. Just need a minute.”

“What about Galt and Maeve?” asked Thaegoth.

“Who?” asked Dar’epha and Sonja at the same time.

“Oh, those bandit kids,” said Dar’epha. “Nah, deal’s for Dagny. I ain’t draggin kids through the sewer.”

“That’s not,” started Thaegoth, but Sonja cut him off.

“If you really want the kids rehabilitated, like you said,” she said, “then let them serve out their sentence. Can’t be long left on it, anyway.”

This time it was Thaegoth who folded his arms. “Fine,” he said. “What else?”

Dar’epha shrugged. “That’s it,” she said. “Long as you’re ready when your illustrious Jarl comes lookin for his sister.”

“We will be,” said Sonja. She stood and looked around the room. The room where the Dragonborn had eaten, read, kicked her boots off by the fire. Where she’d had the peace to close her eyes against the world, even if just for a moment.

“You didn’t know her, huh?” asked Dar’epha. Sonja shook her head. “Her days with the Companions before your time, then. Me and her go way back.”

“She knows you’re here?” asked Sonja.

“Nah,” said Dar’epha. “But she wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you know where she is?” asked Thaegoth.

Dar’epha smiled. “Wouldn’t tell you neither way,” she said. She stretched and rose. “No time for storytellin,” she said. “Go out the way you came in. I’ll meet you behind the Bannered Mare in half an hour.”

Thaegoth and Sonja managed to make it out of Breezehome without tripping over each other, or alerting the guards. Back in the dark of Whiterun, they returned to Jorrvaskr. More time had passed than they realised, for only Nebia and Charos remained in the hall, nursing drinks. Charos rose at the pair’s entrance.

“Well?” he said.

“It’s under control,” said Thaegoth. Sonja wasn’t so sure, but she nodded anyway. She noticed Nebia looking at them with a grin.

“What?” asked Sonja.

“Did you two…?” asked Nebia.

“I’ll tell you later,” said Sonja quickly. Thaegoth’s smirk, however, gave everything away.

“Where’s Irileth?” he asked. On the way back, he’d devised a way to clear the guards out of Dragonsreach dungeon, a workable distraction, but he needed the ex-housecarl’s help.

“Aela’s room, I reckon,” said Nebia, still grinning.

Which meant Thaegoth had to go down and knock. Irileth answered, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Thaegoth explained what he needed.

“Better I don’t know the details,” she said.

“Just drag it out as long as you can,” said Thaegoth.

Irileth turned away. “Let me get dressed,” she said. “I’ll meet you up there.”

When Thaegoth got back up into the main hall of Jorrvaskr, Nebia told him that Sonja had already gone off to meet whoever she had to meet. Thaegoth thanked her, and strode as quickly as he could up to Dragonsreach. The great hall was empty at this late hour except for a pair of guards. Probably the Jarl had long since drunk himself into a stupor. Thaegoth warmed himself by the fire, and waited.

Back down in the town, Dar’epha sauntered into the guard’s warehouse like she owned the place. Which, Sonja supposed, she did in a way. The bribes had worked, the place was completely empty. The thief directed Sonja to help her move a barrel, revealing a trapdoor beneath. It was locked, but before Sonja could ask if that would be a problem, Dar’epha had picked it open.

She dropped down into the sewer without a sound. Sonja heaved herself down with a thump that echoed down the tunnel. Dar’epha looked at her with raised brows.

“Maybe don’t give up your day job,” she said. “Come on.”

She led the way through dim tunnels and Sonja was in no doubt that had she been on her own, there was no way she could have found her way to the small grate in the ceiling that was their destination. Dar’epha held up a hand for quiet. All they needed was for the guards in the dungeon to clear.

Up in Dragonsreach, Thaegoth turned at the sound of the great doors opening. Irileth entered the hall, swaying slightly.

“You’re a fucking sneak-thief,” she called out. “All my life I worked and you’re just... you just come sauntering the fuck in, shitting your little elf shit all over Balgruuf’s grave.” She closed the distance between them. Thaegoth wondered if it was worth pointing out that she was an elf too. “I’ve had enough of it,” Irileth went on. “Your smug face up there next to… next to—”

She took a swing at him. He swayed away from it, but the follow-up blow took him in the gut. The two of them went at, and Thaegoth found he had to put in more effort than he’d thought—Irileth was a great deal stronger than he’d anticipated. Still, they exchanged blows, grappling with each other, making a great deal of noise, and Thaegoth, between ducking and grunting, could see that the guards were starting to gather.

Below in the sewer, Dar’epha listened. Suddenly, her head snapped up.

“We’re on,” she said.

Then, she pulled off a manoeuvre that, if Sonja had been blinking, she would have missed. Even then, she wasn’t sure she could describe how it had happened. Dar’epha was at the wall, then she was at the grate in the sewer ceiling, hanging by one hand, jimmying the lock with the other. When she did, the grate swung down. Dar’epha laughed.

“Always forget about that,” she said. She scrambled up the grate and vanished above into the cell.

Sonja took a standing leap and managed to grasp the bottom of the swinging grate. With great grunts she hauled herself upwards. Heaving her upper body into the cell, she found herself face to face with the two kids she’d arrested on the night she’d met Thaegoth. So long ago now, it seemed. Galt and Maeve, she remembered Thaegoth had said their names were. They each took one of her arms, and helped her up.

“We’re not coming with you,” said Maeve.

“We’re not here for you,” said Dar’epha. She had pulled a key from somewhere and was opening the cell door. She ducked sideways and did the same to the neighbouring cell: Dagny’s.

“There’s a bandit chief working for the Jarl,” remembered Sonja. “You two know anything about that?”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you!” said Galt.

“Your boyfriend doesn’t listen to us,” said Maeve. Dagny snorted from the next cell.

“Your Jarl owes a shitload of money to the head of the Silent Moons,” said Dar’epha, ushering Dagny up and out of her cell.

“Yes, and the boss is pissed,” said Maeve.

“He’s always pissed,” said Galt.

“Here,” said Dar’epha. She tossed a packet of letters to Sonja, who quickly stuffed them inside her clothes. “Nelkir oughta cover his tracks better. Now get her out, I’ll clean up here.”

She went back and closed Dagny’s cell. Sonja pulled Dagny towards the grate and helped her lower herself down. Sonja followed and saw a flash of Dar’epha’s grinning face above as she reached down and pulled up the grate behind them.

Dagny looked around the sewer, her nose wrinkling. “Stinks about the same as the cells, really,” she said.

Maeve’s face appeared behind the grate above.

“Thaegoth promised us a job,” she said.

“What?” said Sonja. “I guess. Yes.” Jorrvaskr could use someone to clean up around the place, she thought, but she didn’t say that out loud. Maeve just grinned, and her face vanished from the opening.

Sonja led Dagny back through the sewer, her hand on her knife. The guard’s warehouse was still quiet and empty. Together they shifted the barrel back over the grate and exited into the darkness of Whiterun. There was nobody in sight, but Sonja still led them on a route behind all the buildings, keeping as much to the shadow of the outer wall as she could.

She ushered Dagny into Jorrvaskr, took one last look around the town, and followed her inside. Aela was standing there with her arms folded.

“You utter fool,” said the Harbinger.

Sonja had expected this response. And so she didn’t fluster when she said, “It’s too late now to change it.”

Aela cursed. “You’ve made sure of that,” she said. She looked off to the side. “I know somewhere we can hide her.”

Back in Dragonsreach, it took four guards to pull Irileth and Thaegoth apart. Later, Thaegoth would be pretty pleased about that. He grinned at her, then remembered he ought not to do that. Irileth shook the guards off and stormed from the hall. Gradually the guards returned to their posts.

While Thaegoth was straightening his clothes, a guard raced up from the dungeon.

“Dagny’s gone,” they breathed.

There was a rush downstairs, Thaegoth included. The cell was indeed empty, the door locked, as if she’d simply disappeared. The kids were still there, all wide-eyed and innocent. One guard ran to alert Hrongar, another to raise Commander Caius. Soon enough Thaegoth was alone in the dungeon. There was a barely perceptible sound from behind him, a sound he knew he wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been raised in the Thieves Guild.

He turned to find a grinning Dar’epha.

“Gave the letters to your girlfriend,” she said. “I’ll be in touch, so’s you can return the favour.” She ambled towards the upper stairs.

“You can’t go up there,” said Thaegoth, hurrying after her, sure the entire operation was going to be blown. She ignored him. By the time Thaegoth got to the stairs, the door at the top was just closing. Thaegoth took the stairs three at time and was out the door into Dragonsreach in a matter of seconds. But in the wide hall, all was still. Dar’epha was nowhere to be seen.

Thaegoth’s eyes widened, then he smiled. He knew one didn’t get promoted that far up the Guild hierarchy for no reason. Like a shadow in the night. He stood, and waited. Soon there would be chaos, he knew, a search for the escaped prisoner. But for now, Thaegoth stood, and enjoyed the quiet.


	38. Broken Circle

Aela led them out the back doors of Jorrvaskr. Looking in every direction, her shoulders hunched, she trod to the face of the rock, beneath the Skyforge. With Sonja, Dagny, and Charos all looking on, the Harbinger reached out and moved a piece of rock in a way that Sonja couldn’t fully see. The rock wall shifted, and with a surprising lack of scraping, swung inwards.

“The Underforge,” said Aela, reluctantly.

Sonja’s eyes were wide. “How long has this been here?”

Aela shrugged and stepped into the dark crevice. With just the shaft of moonlight to guide her, she lit a brazier and ushered the others in. She touched a lever on the inside wall and the rock shifted closed again. The space was low, roughly circular, and mostly bare rock. A podium in the centre held a huge battleaxe, dusty with lack of use. Other podiums around the edges held strange totems that Sonja could not begin to guess at the significance of.

How many times had she walked past this place? Or stood directly above? All with no idea that it was here.

Dagny and Charos were slowly exploring the room. The newly escaped prisoner ran a hand over one of the totems, her bodyguard hanging close by.

“That is a carving of a werewolf,” said Charos.

Dagny drew her hand away. She looked over at Aela.

“When I was younger,” said Dagny, “I used to hear howling coming from Jorrvaskr. We thought you kept dogs, but...”

“No,” said Aela.

Charos had his hand on his swordhilt. “Are you a werewolf?” he asked.

Aela nodded. Sonja took a step away from her.

“You would have been inducted,” said Aela, quietly. “If it hadn’t been for—”

“For the Burned Woman and the massacre,” said Charos. “I have heard the stories. A cursed soul if there ever was one.”

“Me or her?” murmured Aela. She shook her head and pointed down the only other passage out of the room, dark and twisting. “That leads out of the city, if you need it.” She turned to leave.

Sonja assured Dagny and Charos that she would bring them bedding and food, then hurried after Aela. She observed more carefully and thought she understood how the mechanism worked. They walked in silence back to the yard. Under the porch, Sonja could no longer contain herself. She stopped.

“When were you planning on telling me?” she asked.

Aela slumped onto one of the benches.

“Aela,” said Sonja.

Aela stared at the ground. “Soon,” she said. “Before the... but then there were no other senior members left. I couldn’t...”

“We’re supposed to be serving Skyrim, not Hircine,” said Sonja.

“I know,” said Aela. “I know. That’s what Gyl said.”

Sonja couldn’t understand how people, Aela and Dar’epha and others, spoke of the Dragonborn with such familiarity. She’d flown a dragon to Sovngarde, for gods’ sake! But she was still just a woman, it seemed.

“We go to the Hunting Grounds when we die,” said Aela, as if she’d heard the thought. “Not Sovngarde.”

“What?” said Sonja. She felt faintly nauseous. “No, there’s—no. There’s got to be a way to break the curse.”

“There is,” said Aela. “We did it for Kodlak’s spirit, cleansed it, after he died. Vilkas and Farkas talked about doing it for themselves, before they... anyway, I never did. Never wanted to.”

“Why in the name of all the gods not?” asked Sonja.

Aela’s gaze finally met Sonja’s.

“It has its uses,” she said. “Besides, there are worse planes of Oblivion than Hircine’s. An eternity, hunting? I can think of worse things.”

“But what if you, you know...”

“Lose control?” asked Aela. She laughed, but it dwindled and she turned away. “I didn’t give it away before. I know what I’m doing.”

“Alright,” said Sonja. She lingered, not knowing what else to say. “Maybe... maybe we can do for Farkas and Vilkas what you did for Kodlak. If that’s what they wanted.”

Aela’s words were thick with coming tears. “We’ve got more important things to do.”

“When this is done, then,” said Sonja. She pulled Aela up and into a hug.

“You’d be a better Harbinger than me,” Aela murmured into Sonja’s shoulder.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Sonja.

Aela pulled away, wiping her eyes.

“Don’t tell the others,” she said.

“About the werewolf thing, or about you crying?”

Aela laughed then. “Both,” she said. “Or Dagny,” she added.

Sonja had, for a moment, forgotten that they were hiding a fugitive from the Jarl in a secret room under the Skyforge. Up in Dragonsreach, however, Thaegoth was allowed no such reprieve.

Brought from his bed in the dead of night, still mostly drunk, to the news that his sister had vanished from the dungeon, Jarl Nelkir was, to say the least, displeased.

“Search every fucking shadow in this fucking town!” he bellowed across the hall, “People don’t just disappear!” He hurled anything to hand at Thaegoth, Hrongar, and Commander Caius as they moved towards the doors. As they reached them, a figure entered in hide armour who looked suspiciously like a bandit. Thaegoth’s hand dropped to his sword.

“Ah, my lord,” called out the bandit, sarcasm dripping from his words. “My chief requests that you pay what is owed.”

Nelkir screamed that the bandit be taken to the dungeon. The bandit was duly dragged away, though he seemed to have expected nothing less. Thaegoth examined Caius’ face during this episode, but the old man gave nothing away. The two of them and Hrongar reconvened outside Dragonsreach, the guard Commander assuming the direction of the search.

“Nowhere will be exempt,” he said, looking pointedly at Thaegoth. “Not even Jorrvaskr.”

“Of course,” said Thaegoth, inclining his head. “The Companions have nothing to hide.” He hoped quietly that Sonja had found someplace to secure Dagny, and perhaps Charos as well. Someplace that he didn’t know about, for in his time in Jorrvaskr, he hadn’t found any hidden passages or chambers—though he’d looked for them.

Dawn crept over Whiterun and the search went on. All of Dragonsreach, and then all the Wind District were turned over, but there was no sign of Dagny. Thaegoth and Hrongar, as representatives of the Jarl, were sent about to smooth over the arrivals of the guards in people’s houses, make apologies, but insist if necessary.

The strongest objectors, Thaegoth noted, were those of House Battle-Born. The guards brought out some documents contained suspicious financial details, but Caius got hold of them before Thaegoth could get a look.

“I’ll see to it,” said Caius, and Thaegoth knew that it would not be seen to. Caius then ordered Thaegoth away, arguing they didn’t want him interfering while they searched Jorrvaskr. A conflict of interest, he said. Thaegoth bit back a laugh at the hypocrisy and went to the Bannered Mare, watching from the bar as the guards turned it upside down.

Antario, turfed from his room by the guards, descended the stairs, looked at Thaegoth for less than a heartbeat, and went straight out. Thaegoth waited, shared a few derogatory remarks with Saadia about the methods of the guard, then went to follow the advisor of High Queen Elisif.

They met, once again, in the catacombs. Already searched—but then there were few places to hide among the dead.

“I doubt there will be many of my possessions remaining when I return to my room,” said Antario. The Altmer stood straight in his fine blue robes, his hands folded behind his back, his curved golden-hilted sword at his hip in its black scabbard.

“Guards still don’t like elves,” said Thaegoth. “Or anyone who isn’t a Nord, really.”

“That is putting it lightly,” said Antario. He was silent for a moment. “It occurred to me that an ex-thief would have exactly the skills necessary to stage a jailbreak.”

Thaegoth was silent. He was very proud that a smile didn’t creep onto his face. Antario nodded, and Thaegoth thought he approved.

“It is better I do not know,” said Antario.

“I’ve got no idea where Dagny is,” said Thaegoth. “But I do need your help.”

“If I can provide assistance, I will endeavour to do so,” said Antario. “But you are aware I cannot openly aid you.”

Thaegoth was aware. “We’ve got some evidence against Nelkir,” he said. “Dealing with bandits, plus a witness he thinks is dead, in a secure location, but there’s more. He bribed the legionnaires at the border to stop letters to Dagny. Sent Caius to do it.”

“Commander Caius,” said Antario, raising his eyebrows. “I cannot say I am surprised. The man is up to his bald pate in bribes.”

“Yes,” said Thaegoth, feeling his brow furrowing. “But there’s a quaestor, who runs the patrols at the border. We don’t know his name.”

“You wish me to find him,” said Antario, “and bring him to testify to all in Dragonsreach.”

“Yes,” said Thaegoth. “All the evidence at once.”

“A good plan,” said Antario. “Do you have a description of this quaestor?”

Thaegoth thought for a moment. “Nebia broke his nose,” he said.

Antario smiled. “That should make it easier,” he said.


	39. Witnesses

After the guards had cleared Jorrvaskr, and the rest of Whiterun, Aela came to Sonja. There was a folded note in the Harbinger’s hand, which she passed over.

“I want you to go check on Brenuin, the beggar,” she said. “See if he’s well enough to come back.”

“Or if he’s dead,” said Nebia, approaching.

“That too,” said Aela.

“What’s the note for?” asked Sonja.

“So Argis the Bulwark doesn’t kill you,” said Aela.

Sonja’s eyebrows went up. She’d heard of Argis, of course, growing up in Markarth as she had. As a child she’d even seen him a few times, from a distance. But then the Dragonborn came, and it was said that Argis sided with her against the Forsworn and all their conspiracies, putting them both out of favour in the Reach.

Aela gave directions to the remote hut where she and Thaegoth had left Brenuin, after Nelkir had attempted to have his courier to the bandits killed.

“Be careful,” said Aela. “Guards are looking for Dagny all over now.”

Sonja knew. As she and Nebia, who attached herself to the job without saying anything, were walking down through Whiterun, they saw that there were barely any guards left in the city. The city seemed quieter without them. Out on the plains, however, there were enough guards to make up for it. They combed the fields, ransacked the houses, and delved into caves. Sonja was glad they didn’t see Commander Caius on their way, taking a circuitous route west, around Rorikstead so that fewer people would see them and remember their passage.

“You reckon this’ll be enough?” asked Nebia, as they walked. “The beggar, and those letters the cat gave you?”

“Dar’epha,” said Sonja, who had found herself thinking fondly of that thief in the time since the jailbreak. “And Thaegoth said Antario is trying to find that quaestor whose nose you broke.”

“Oh, that motherfucker,” said Nebia, grinding her teeth.

“Two witnesses, and the letters between Nelkir and the bandits,” said Sonja. “It should be enough.”

“I dunno,” said Nebia. “He’s a slippery bastard.”

They reached Argis’ hut without incident. Sonja knocked, and the man known as the Bulwark opened the door wide, a crossbow levelled at her. Sonja took a step back, then remembered the note. Argis’ eyes narrowed as she reached for her pocket, so she moved very slowly to extract the folded paper. She handed it over. He took it and read it without his grip on the crossbow faltering, one eye still on her and Nebia.

Slowly, however, he smiled.

“Companions,” he said. “Come in, then.”

He lowered the crossbow and stood back to let them enter. Sonja did so, slow and wary.

“You greet all your guests like that?” asked Nebia as they came inside. It was small and simply furnished, but clearly well-tended.

Argis shrugged. “Mostly,” he said. He leaned the crossbow up against the wall near the door, and gestured towards the single bed. There lay Brenuin, the Redguard beggar who had once been a regular fixture of Whiterun. Even Sonja, in her limited time in the city, had gotten used to his presence. Now he lay sprawled, ensconced in bandages, his breathing slow but regular. His eyes were open and flicked towards them.

“Forgive me if I don’t get up,” he said.

“Can he travel?” Sonja asked Argis.

Argis turned that over for a while. “In a stretcher, maybe,” he said. “I’d need help.”

“I’m right here,” growled Brenuin. “Don’t fuckin talk ’bout me like I ain’t.”

“D’you see who got you?” asked Nebia, crouching by the bed.

“Course I fuckin did,” said Brenuin. “I’m old, but I ain’t blind yet. Breton woman. Dark hair. Little, but with this grin, ’mediately wanted to sock her in the face. Others took orders from her.”

“Don’t exert yourself,” said Argis, standing with his arms folded.

Nebia swore.

“What?” said Sonja.

“Remember when you broke your arm fightin that troll?” she said. “We went on and found the bastards who kidnapped Hrongar, drinkin in Morthal. One of ’em was that Breton woman. Your Thaegy somehow convinced Aela to let her work off her sentence. Seems like she only hung around til we were outta sight.”

Sonja felt a flash of anger at Thaegoth, but stamped it down. There was no way he could have known—none of them could have, back then, about the depths of what Nelkir was up to.

She assured Argis that she would send someone to help, when it was time, and told him and Brenuin to be ready. Brenuin swore at her, but said he’d happily bring that stinking Jarl down on his own if he had to.

On the way back east, Sonja wanted to investigate the Silent Moons camp. The place was in sight of Whiterun, but so well-defended that the Companions and the guard had never been able to take it out. Nebia tried to argue her out of it, but Sonja brushed aside the objections and led them quietly towards the ruins, creeping up the stone stair.

“Somethin’s wrong,” said Nebia, when they were halfway up. “We oughta have been spotted by now.”

And they had been. When they reached the top, a bandit leap out from behind a pillar, roaring at them. Sonja reacted without thinking, deflecting his blow with her shield and cutting him down within moments. He was dead before he hit the stone.

“Shit,” said Nebia, “I was hopin to do a little interrogatin.”

“Something’s wrong,” said Sonja, looking around.

“Where d’you get that bright idea?” asked Nebia, smirking at her.

But it was immediately obvious: the rest of the ruin was empty. They cased it carefully, just to be sure, but the now-dead bandit had been the only occupant. There were signs of habitation, but none of them recent.

“I don’t understand,” said Sonja. “Where would they go?”

Nebia had no answers either. They headed back to Whiterun and reported what they’d seen and not seen. The city was still eerily quiet, most of the guards still out searching the wilds of the hold.

The following day was much the same, with still no progress in the search for Dagny. Sonja continued to take food to the escaped prisoner, mostly at night. Dagny slept a great deal, and looked stronger with every passing hour. Charos, however, paced endlessly. The guards, it was said, were looking for him too.

Up in Dragonsreach, Nelkir was furious at the lack of results. Everyone was conspiring against him, he said, and nobody knew their place. The previous night there had been a large brawl in the Bannered Mare, Thaegoth learned, a dozen mercenaries causing trouble—but none of them had protested much when what guards remained in town threw them in the dungeon.

There was a group of pilgrims in town, too, Thaegoth noticed. Seeking the shrine of Kynareth, it appeared, and the shade of the wondrous Gildergreen. On top of that, there were at least five Vigilants of Stendarr in town, who’d been accepted in Dragonsreach as honoured guests and ate in the great hall.

Thaegoth was watching them do just that, having some vague suspicion that Vigilants usually travelled in groups of three, when Nelkir singled him out for special treatment.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” said the Jarl. He was, somehow, still drunk. “I told you, time and again, to keep away from the Companions. But it’s you. Consorting with Dagny, plotting against me. Why wouldn’t you want the throne? Why wouldn’t—”

“My lord,” said Thaegoth, through his teeth. He had his hand on his sword and refused to let himself become any tenser than he already was. “I am afraid, regrettably, that I must resign from my position as your housecarl.” He bowed, turned, and was most of the way out of the hall before Nelkir’s abuse started raining down.

Abruptly it was cut off as the great doors of Dragonsreach closed behind Thaegoth. He took a deep breath and let his hand drop from his sword. Halfway down the stairs he realised he’d left his leather armour back up in his room. He couldn’t go back in now, of course. There would be time later. For now, he wished to see Jorrvaskr, and Sonja, again.

“I’ve resigned,” he said, when he entered the hall of the Companions. Only Aela, Sonja, and Yanakh were present, however.

Sonja came to greet him with a kiss. He held her with a light touch, almost unable to believe that this was his life now.

“Good,” murmured Sonja in his ear. “I like having you around.”

“Could’ve used some eyes in Dragonsreach, though,” said Aela, from the table.

“I don’t think Nelkir’s going to burn down the city tonight,” said Sonja.

“You never know,” said Yanakh.

Sonja explained to him, in hurried sentences, about her and Nebia’s trip out to see Argis and Brenuin, of Brenuin’s description of his attacker, and of the empty camp of the Silent Moons.

“Still doesn’t make any sense,” said Aela. “Groups that big, they don’t just disappear. That many, there ought to be tracks as big as a giant’s.” She rose. “Sonja. We’re going to have another look.” She paused for a moment. “Thaegoth, keep an eye on things.”

Sonja smiled. A prospect that would have horrified Aela not so long ago. But then, much had changed in recent months. Sonja and Aela armed and armoured themselves, and headed back out of Whiterun, towards the north-west.

“Do you have to be so blatant?” asked Aela, once they were out of the city.

It took Sonja a moment to realise what she was talking about.

“Are you and Irileth any different?” she asked.

Aela grunted. “Fair point,” she said.

There was silence between them until they reached the Silent Moons’ camp. Still the place was empty, as it had been before. Still the body of the lone sentry lay where Sonja and Nebia had left it. Aela was scanning the earth for tracks, her brow furrowed.

“I’ve heard tell of the chief,” she said. “Doesn’t match what Brenuin said, that Breton woman. A Dunmer, I heard it was.” She looked around the camp. “We never had the bodies to be able to do anything about this place.”

“Maybe we’re close now,” said Sonja.

“Maybe,” said Aela. She tugged at her hair. “You’ve done good work, you and Thaegoth.”

Sonja flushed red and looked at her feet. “And you’re really fine with us, together?”

“Could see it coming better than you could, I reckon,” said Aela. “Long as it doesn’t get in the way of the job.”

“It won’t,” said Sonja.

Aela nodded, considering the topic dealt with. “I heard the Silent Moons were getting bigger, not smaller. But the tracks out of here are old, and just in small groups. Heading in all directions.”

“Maybe they disbanded,” said Sonja.

“I don’t think so,” said Aela. “Come on. I’ll call a meeting. We need to sort all of this out.”


	40. Pieces in Place

Everybody assembled in Jorrvaskr. Aela the Huntress at the head of the table. Sonja, Thaegoth, Nebia, and Yanakh down one side. Irileth, Dagny, Charos, and Thorald down the other. The Harbinger laid it out for them.

There were three pieces of evidence. First, the letters sent from the Silent Moons to Nelkir, demanding payment for services rendered. Recovered by Dar’epha, they were now secured somewhere by Aela—she’d kept them on her person when the guards had been searching Jorrvaskr.

Second, Brenuin. He had acted as courier between Nelkir and the bandits, for a price. But when he knew too much, both parties had agreed to eliminate him. Argis would need help bringing Brenuin to Whiterun, added Aela, when it was time.

Third, the Imperial quaestor, bribed by Nelkir and Commander Caius at the border to stop letters getting through to Dagny. Currently being tracked down by Antario. Thaegoth promised to check on that progress, as it was crucial to bring Caius down along with Nelkir.

Sonja smiled to herself. It wasn’t so long ago that Aela had refused to have anything to do with their treason against the Jarl. Now here they were, all assembled, all committed.

“It should be enough to bring him down,” said Aela. “Turn the people against him. Get Elisif involved, maybe.”

There was a knock at the front door then. Charos rose, his hand on his sword. Aela made some short hand gestures, and Charos and Dagny retreated into the guest room. Yanakh rose to open the door the minimum amount. There was murmuring that the others couldn’t hear properly. Eventually, Yanakh turned and swung the door wider.

“He says his name’s Mirath,” she said. “He says he wants to join the Companions.”

Both Thaegoth and Sonja rose from their seats. The door swung wide to reveal the Dunmer thief from Cyrodiil, who’d busted into Jorrvaskr with a crossbow, been tied to a chair, and later agreed to leave with the boots that Thaegoth had stolen from their Guild.

“No,” said Thaegoth.

“I thought you might say that,” said Mirath, still barred from entry by Yanakh. “But I’ve quit the Guild. And I couldn’t think of a better place to come than fair Whiterun.” He peered into the room at the assembled Companions and associates. “Have I come at a bad time?”

“Let him in,” said Sonja.

“What?” said Thaegoth. “He tried to kill you.”

“I most certainly did not,” said Mirath. “Have you forgotten the Guild’s first rule already? I came for what I was sent for and you were all most obliging.” He smiled at everybody in the room. Yanakh looked at Aela, who nodded. She dropped her arm and Mirath entered, Yanakh closing the door behind him.

Thaegoth still stood, his fists clenched. Sonja laid a hand on his arm and he felt some of the tension go out of him. He sat back down, suddenly very tired.

“You can’t trust him,” he said.

“Because I used to be a thief?” asked Mirath. “So—”

“I know, I know, so did I,” said Thaegoth. He looked away as Mirath found a seat at the table, down next to Yanakh.

“And I was a bandit,” said Nebia. “Bloody good one, as it happens.”

“Had you not been captured and sentenced to death when Thaegoth found you?” asked Yanakh.

Nebia waved a hand and leaned back on her chair. “Please, I had that under control.”

“I used to work for Malacath, if we are sharing pasts,” said Yanakh.

“And I bet there’s a story there,” said Irileth, casting a glance at Aela. “But we are in the middle of something.” She rose and let Dagny and Charos out of the guest room. They resumed their seats, Charos looking suspiciously at Mirath.

“Yes,” said Aela, her hands flat on the table. She took a breath, then continued. “Mirath, welcome. We’ll do the induction later. We’re busy trying to overthrow the Jarl.”

Mirath’s eyebrows went up. He leaned towards Yanakh and asked, “Does this sort of thing happen often?”

Yanakh shrugged. “I don’t know, I haven’t been here that long.”

“It does not,” said Aela. “So we must be ready. Nebia, go and help Argis with Brenuin. Cover his face, bring him in here. Thaegoth, go and talk to Antario, see how much longer til that legionnaire gets here.”

Thaegoth nodded and rose again. He clutched hands briefly with Sonja, then left the hall. Again he waited in the Bannered Mare in the agreed place. Again he watched Antario walk out. Again he waited and followed the advisor to the catacombs.

“You wish to know when this quaestor will arrive,” said Antario.

“Yes,” said Thaegoth. “Things are moving fast now, we need him.”

Antario shook his head. “He is a day away, perhaps more. His name is Vaenius, I discovered that easily enough.”

“That might be too late,” said Thaegoth.

“I would recommend caution,” said Antario. He looked up the stairs. “There is enough tension in this city already. And nowhere near enough guards.”

“They’re still out looking for Dagny?”

“Indeed. A... I believe the term is ‘skeleton crew’, remains in Whiterun. I am due in Dragonsreach, if you’ll excuse me. Someone must keep an eye on proceedings there.”

Antario bowed, and exited. Thaegoth lingered, pacing in the catacombs. He remembered that he’d left his leather armour up in his old room in Dragonsreach. It was late evening, Nelkir would no doubt be drunk already—he wouldn’t notice Thaegoth sneaking through to retrieve his possessions.

Having already given enough time for Antario to get settled, Thaegoth headed up and entered Dragonsreach. He had to open the doors himself, due to the lack of guards, though there were still two inside, he saw, on either side of the throne. Nelkir did indeed have a goblet in his hand, and was toasting his guests.

The sheer number of them took Thaegoth aback. The Vigilants of Stendarr were still present, but so were all the pilgrims in town visiting the shrine. More than a dozen of them, dressed plainly in brown robes and furs. Drinking and feasting at the Jarl’s expense. Thaegoth let his eyes move away from Antario, who was at a different table with Avulstein Gray-Mane and Idolaf Battle-Born. Thaegoth might not have been a Whiterun native, but he knew that seating arrangement was unusual.

Nelkir, occupied with Hrongar, didn’t notice Thaegoth treading quietly through the bustling hall towards the back stairs. But as Thaegoth was mounting those stairs, he looked back and saw two things in short succession.

The first was that one of the pilgrims was slipping down the other stairs to the dungeon, seemingly unnoticed by anybody else. The second was one of the Vigilants making eye contact: it was the Breton woman from Morthal, who’d helped abduct Hrongar and who Thaegoth had let live. She grinned wide at him and Thaegoth had the sudden thought that he was going to need his armour.

Voices and stamping feet came from the dungeon. One of the other Vigilants stood and threw his hood back, revealing himself to be a huge Nord, a scar splitting through his blonde beard.

“People of Whiterun!” he called out, his voice cascading through the hall. “We are the Silent Moons! We have sweated and bled for your Jarl and now he refuses to pay us what we are rightfully owed. We are forced to take drastic action.”

The pilgrim came back up from the dungeon, spinning a key on their finger. Behind them were the crowd of mercenaries arrested the previous night in the Bannered Mare, all armed and armoured. More or less as one, the other pilgrims and Vigilants rose and brought forth concealed weapons.

Thaegoth did a quick headcount. More than twenty, he thought, maybe nearly thirty. One of the bandits coming up from the dungeon was hauling the kids, Galt and Maeve, with them.

“Look who we found all comfy down there,” said the bandit.

The large Nord laughed. The chief, at last, thought Thaegoth.

“We told you,” called out Galt. Maeve hissed at him to shut up.

They had tried to tell him, cursed Thaegoth to himself. And he’d been so caught up in what he had thought was important that he hadn’t listened.

The guards on either side of Nelkir had their swords drawn, but their Jarl was not providing any orders. The bandits heaved the massive bars into place on the main doors.

“Until we extract our payment,” said the chief, “Dragonsreach is locked down.”


	41. Under Siege

The bandits filled Dragonsreach. Thaegoth, still at the base of the back stairs, made a hand gesture in Antario’s direction, trying to get him to stay put—though the high elf hadn’t moved since the eruption, only folded his hands in his lap. Thaegoth turned and dashed upstairs, hoping he could barricade the door on his old room long enough for him to get into his armour. If only there was some way to get word to the Companions, he thought. How long would it take for them, or anyone outside, to realise something was wrong?

He took the stairs three at a time, hearing yelling from behind him, and crashed into the door of his old room. It was locked. He crouched, his fingers from old habit going for a lockpick. But a pair of bandits had followed him and came around the corner then, their weapons levelled at him.

Thaegoth drew his sword. Finally, a chance to use in actual combat the blade that Thorald had forged for him. It felt so light in his hand, always at readiness. The bandits just grinned at him. One seemed ready to the lunge, but the other held them back.

“Stand down,” said the second bandit. “Or we’ll start offing those little brats.”

The first bandit laughed. “I still can’t believe they got caught going to steal chickens,” they said.

Thaegoth sighed and dropped his sword on the floor. The second bandit gestured, and Thaegoth kicked the blade over. The bandit picked it up, nodded appreciatively, and stepped back, gesturing for Thaegoth to come downstairs.

When he did, the bandits pushed him, though not ungently, up onto the dais with Nelkir and Hrongar, taking up the spot he’d occupied as housecarl. Nelkir glared at him, but said nothing. The bandits were in the process of taking weapons from those present: the two guards, Hrongar, Idolaf Battle-Born, Avulstein Gray-Mane, and even Antario’s golden blade. The bandit chief, the huge Nord, whistled as he drew it.

“Where in Oblivion did you get this?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

“Boethiah’s realm,” said Antario.

The chief looked at him for a moment, then laughed. “Sure thing, elf,” he said. He sheathed the sword and handed it to one of his lackeys to be added to the pile of weapons that was forming on a table.

Once the weapons were all collected, everybody except Hrongar and Thaegoth, who remained flanking Nelkir on the dais, was herded over to one table and encouraged to sit; the servants, along with Galt and Maeve, were also among that number, Thaegoth saw. He stood, and he watched, as the chief approached the Jarl.

Back in Jorrvaskr, Sonja had just opened her mouth to wonder what was taking Thaegoth so long, when Yanakh cut her off.

“Did anybody notice Mirath slip out?” she asked.

Aela snorted. “Went after Thaegoth,” she said. “Thought he was being sneaky.”

The rest of them were still around the table: Aela and Sonja, Yanakh, Irileth, Dagny and Charos. Nebia had gone to fetch Brenuin. It was then that Mirath tumbled in through the door.

“There’s something going on in Dragonsreach,” he said, breathless.

“Could you be more specific, Mirath?” asked Yanakh.

“I followed Thaegoth up there, but the doors are barred,” said Mirath. “I heard them do it.”

“Did you peek through the keyhole?” asked Irileth, smiling.

“There wasn’t one,” said Mirath, smirking back at her. “But I listened. Locked down, they said. With Thaegoth inside.”

“Who said?” asked Aela.

“I don’t know! But I heard yelling. Lots of voices.”

Aela rose, her chair clacking to the floor behind her.

“I’ve been a gods-damned fool,” she said. “Everybody arm up. The Silent Moons are in our city.”

There was a rush of noise as everybody got to their feet. Charos calmly checked his sword in its scabbard.

“There’s the side entrance to the dungeon,” said Irileth. “Common knowledge, but it might be less well-defended.”

“There’s…” said Sonja. She frowned. She didn’t know if revealing this knowledge would sour their relationship with Dar’epha and the local Guild. But then she remembered Thaegoth was inside. “There’s another way in. Through the sewers.”

“What about the, uh, the Great Porch?” asked Mirath. “I have heard tell of how the Dragonborn captured a dragon there. Is there some way it could be scaled?”

Irileth laughed. “There’s no way,” she said.

“Impossible,” said Dagny.

“I’ll do it,” said Mirath. “There’s nobody here more qualified. You’ve got nothing to lose.” He paused, looking around the room. “You don’t trust me. Fair enough. So if I fall, it’s no great loss. But if I don’t…”

“Then we’ve got a back way into Dragonsreach,” said Irileth.

“I will admit,” said Yanakh, “I find his optimism infectious.”

Aela stared at Mirath for a long time.

“There’s some rope on a peg out back,” she said eventually.

Back in Dragonsreach, the bandit chief approached the dais and looked up at Nelkir. The Jarl had not spoken since the bandits had revealed themselves, and his face was unreadable. He stared at his hands, though he flinched when the chief began to speak.

“You made us certain promises,” he said. “We do your dirty work, get you to the throne, and we get what we are owed. We are tired of waiting. We are here to claim what is ours.”

Nelkir was silent. Idolaf Battle-Born sprung from his seat.

“You dealt with bandits? You...”

He was tugged down by Avulstein Gray-Mane, whose own face was rent with hatred, directed at Nelkir rather than at the man from his rival family.

“Speak, damn you!” bellowed the bandit chief at Nelkir.

Nelkir reached out to the armrest of his throne, his hand moving in the motion of closing around a goblet that wasn’t there. When his fingers met air, he sighed and finally looked up.

“I have done nothing beyond what was necessary for Whiterun,” he said.

Hrongar took a step closer to the throne.

“What promises were made?” asked Balgruuf’s brother.

Nelkir murmured something under his breath.

“What promises were made?” asked Hrongar again.

“Shut up, uncle, for gods’ sake,” said Nelkir. He clutched at the side of his head. “All of you just shut up.”

“Aside from the gold,” said the chief, “none of which has been received, by the way, we were guaranteed amnesty within Whiterun hold. Ongoing and permanent. Stakes in a few businesses. The profitable ones. And Commander of the guard, for me.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You would have given them the keys to the city,” said Hrongar. He belted Nelkir on the back of the head, knocking him out of the throne. The Jarl sprawled on the dais, half down the steps.

“I was hoping to do that myself,” said the chief. “But go right ahead.”

Thaegoth frowned. He’d counted the people in the room and scanned for exits and tried to think of any way forward, but there was no course of movement coming into his head that wouldn’t result in him and too many others bleeding on the floor of Dragonsreach. Which meant he had to try something else. Try to stall things, at least.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “Raiding the treasury?”

The chief laughed. “Not easy running off with huge chests of gold,” he said. Thaegoth let out a small smile. He knew that, had known that almost from birth. Take only what you can run with.

“No,” the chief went on. “I’m aiming higher now.”

“You can have it,” said Nelkir, scrambling upright. “Everything I promised you. If you’ll just leave.”

“It’s too late for that,” said the chief. “I want the throne.”


	42. Blood in the Great Hall

“Here’s the plan,” said Aela, planting her hands flat on the table in Jorrvaskr. “Mirath, do your climb up to the porch. Try not to die.”

“I will do my utmost,” said Mirath, sweeping down into a low bow. There was a long coil of rope over his shoulder, and he’d fitted a hook to one end. Where he’d produced the hook from, Sonja had no idea.

“Sonja, you know the sewer entrance,” Aela went on. “Take Yanakh with you, go up through the cell. Me and Irileth will rally what’s left of the guard and try the side entrance into the dungeon. Find some ram maybe for the front door.”

“Are there others in the town who could assist us?” asked Yanakh.

“There are,” said Irileth. “But we don’t want panic.”

“Fair enough,” said Yanakh, nodding and checking her orcish sword in its sheath over her shoulder.

Aela ground her teeth. “We could use Nebia’s mace,” she said.

“I do not have a mace,” said Charos, “but you have me.”

“And me,” said Dagny.

“What?” said Aela. “No, out of the question.”

“You don’t think my father taught me how to fight?” asked Dagny. “I was never as good as Frothar, but”—she grinned savagely—“a damned sight better than Nelkir. Besides, this is my town as well.”

Aela was silent for a moment.

“We need the bodies,” said Sonja. “We don’t know how many bandits are in there.”

“Fine,” said Aela. “Dagny, get yourself a blade. You and Charos stick with me.” She looked down the table at Thorald. “Bar the door here after we’re gone,” she told him. “Might be more bandits about, don’t want to lose two locations.”

Thorald rose. “If someone comes who isn’t one of us,” he said, “they won’t be getting in.”

Up in Dragonsreach, silence had descended on the hall after the bandit chief’s announcement of his aims. Thaegoth clenched and unclenched his fists. He’d wanted to bring down Nelkir as much as Sonja had, but a bandit on the throne? It was madness.

“If you step down,” said the chief to Nelkir, “and let me ascend, then this’ll all be over. I’ll let everyone out. Peacefully, no violence.”

Some of the other bandits made noises of protest. The chief grinned.

“You can’t just...” Nelkir was saying, scrambling back into his throne and clinging to it. “You can’t just walk in and demand this, you can’t! There are processes, there are..”

“Oh,” said the chief, “like getting rid of those in the line of succession?”

Nelkir dove from the throne at the chief, but Thaegoth, acting on instinct, grabbed the Jarl and pulled him back. Immediately he wondered why he bothered. But having Nelkir cut down by the bandits wasn’t the ending he and the Companions had been working towards.

“You killed your brother Frothar,” said Hrongar.

“No,” said the chief. “He paid us to. With that big curved sword he said he’d had since he was a kid. Damned nasty thing, it was.”

“You said you got rid of that cursed blade!” said Hrongar, his face scrunched with an old fear.

“We had to deal with that little Morthal witch,” said the chief, “to get the fucking thing off our hands, but she did pay us well. Only payment we’ve had, matter of fact.” He shook his head and spread his arms wide. His voice angled up, echoing through the hall. “But Jarls have risen and fallen by combat since the earliest days of Skyrim. This will be no exception.” He drew his sword, a one-handed steel blade, worn with use but still heavy and fearsome. “Nelkir. I challenge you for the throne of Whiterun. We’ll settle this the old way. Steel on steel.”

There was a great thump then at the front door, which shook dust from the wood and made everybody in the hall flinch.

“That’ll be Caius,” said Nelkir.

“No,” said the bandit chief. “Caius is pinned down by some of my gang, at the Western Watchtower. He’s probably dead already.”

Another bandit came up from the dungeon then. He looked briefly at the grinning Breton woman, before directing his gaze at the chief. Thaegoth frowned, trying to process the movement, but was distracted by what the newly arrived bandit said.

“Someone’s trying to get in the side door to the dungeon.”

“Well don’t let them in,” said the chief, throwing his arms up. He made a few hand movements and half a dozen bandits ran down the stairs to the dungeon.

Downstairs, Sonja, helped up by Yanakh, yanked the grate off its hinges from the bottom of the cell that had belonged to the kids. She hauled herself up, her head just poking into the cell. She saw bandits rushing past to shore up the exterior door against intruders. Sonja climbed fully into the cell and turned to help Yanakh up.

The door out of the cell was wide open and the kids were nowhere to be seen. Quietly Sonja and Yanakh slipped out and came upon the bandits from behind. At least two ran, back up into Dragonsreach, but the others provided little resistance. Yanakh opened the side door, revealing Aela, Charos, and Dagny.

“No guards?” asked Sonja.

“Irileth’s with them at the front door,” said Aela, entering the dungeon. “Felt it best to keep them away from these two.”

Upstairs, the chief levelled his sword at Nelkir.

“Plenty of swords here,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll get started.” He looked over at the front door, which again shook at the impact of a ram.

Two blood-splattered bandits raced up from the dungeon and said the Companions had broken in. Thaegoth couldn’t suppress a grin.

“Of course it’s the fucking Companions,” said the chief. “Well don’t let them in here.” There was a pause. “Bar the door at the base of the stairs! Come on!” A rush of bandits headed that way, and Thaegoth heard yelling and the cracking of wood. The chief looked at Nelkir expectantly.

“Can I... can I appoint a champion?” asked Nelkir, very quietly.

Multiple people in Dragonsreach spat in disgust.

“I suppose,” said the chief. “Though I can’t see anyone here fighting for you now. Kinslayer and all that.”

There was silence in Dragonsreach, but for the struggling of the Companions trying to get in. Nobody stepped forward. Thaegoth knew that if nobody did, then Nelkir would be cut down in an instant. He was a schemer, not a fighter. The bandit chief’s big blade would swing and that would be the end of Nelkir. No trial, no justice, just death. Shit, thought Thaegoth.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“Good, let’s go, come on,” said the chief. “Someone get him his sword.”

One of the bandits—the one who’d taken Thaegoth’s surrender upstairs—fished out Thaegoth’s sword from the pile and handed it to him hilt first as he stepped down off the dais.

“I’d like my armour, too,” said Thaegoth.

“No,” said the chief.

Thaegoth shrugged. It had been worth a shot. Space between the dais and the dying fire was cleared for the duel. Thaegoth moved to the right of the dais, the chief to the left. Just in cloth against the heavy hide and leather the chief was wearing. Thaegoth knew his sword wouldn’t let him down, but his skills might.

“I’d prefer to settle this without violence,” he said.

“You’re just trying to stall until your friends break in,” said the chief, and charged at him.

Thaegoth met the chief’s sword with his own and turned it, sliding out of the way. They fought, steel on steel, clacking and clanging across the wooden boards. The chief was stronger, that was obvious from the first. He was skilled too, in a raw way, hardened over years spent in the wilderness where misjudging a blow would leave you bleeding in the snow.

But Thaegoth was faster. All his drills with the other Companions had given him an almost mathematical appreciation of fighting. Still events could turn, the introduction of some unexpected variable, but there were basic processes, laws of momentum and sequences of movement. Thaegoth knew them now, and knew how to manipulate them.

He remembered, as he dodged and deflected the chief’s blows, how cocky he’d gotten with his speed and his skills when he’d first fought Sonja, all that time ago. How it hadn’t been enough. But that was then. This time, Thaegoth was focussed. Calm and even.

In one smooth movement, Thaegoth twisted the chief’s sword out of his hand, sending it skittering across the floor, swept the chief’s legs from under him, landing him flat on his back with a thump, and levelled his own sword at the chief’s throat.

“Kill him,” said Nelkir.

Thaegoth eyes left his defeated opponent and searched for the Breton woman across the room. She was still clad in her Vigilant’s garb, though she wasn’t grinning now.

“Leave,” said Thaegoth. “Unless you wish your chief to die.”

“What?” said Nelkir. “Kill him!”

He lunged forward but was held back by Hrongar’s still-powerful grip. The Breton bandit made a near-imperceptible signal and, from another group of bandits stepped forth a Dunmer armed with a crossbow.

“My congratulations,” he said, bowing slightly. “You have succeeded in defeating our challenge. That man, however, is not the true chief of the Silent Moons. I am. You can keep that one, however, to testify against your Jarl.”

“What?” bellowed the false chief. He tried to rise but was prevented by the point of Thaegoth’s sword, still hovering near his throat.

“No!” screamed Nelkir. “Kill them all, for the love of all the gods!”

“There has been enough bloodshed in this affair,” said the Dunmer chief. “We will leave peacefully.” He directed the other bandits to remove the bar on the main door, and halt their barricading of the dungeon door.

“You’re just leaving,” said Hrongar.

“Yes,” said the chief. “But the debt owed us is outstanding. We will extract it from the city one way or another.”

It was then that Sonja, leading the push with her shield raised, forced her way up into the hall. Bandits scattered before her rush and Thaegoth felt a burst of pride. Behind her came Yanakh, Aela, Charos, and Dagny. The appearance of the last sent a murmur running through Dragonsreach.

Thaegoth signalled that the Companions should hold. Sonja sent a glare his way, but they held. The bandits flung open the main doors to reveal Irileth and a handful of guards, along with Nebia and Argis, who were supporting Brenuin between them.

“Didn’t we kill you already?” asked the Breton bandit.

“Kill them all!” screamed Nelkir again, though it was unclear who he was asking to kill who.

“Violence as a solution is the reason we got into this mess,” said Thaegoth.

“Well said,” said the Dunmer chief. “We’ll be going then.”

The bandits gathered and Thaegoth gestured for those at the door to let them through. Nebia cursed and Brenuin spat at them and Irileth had to pressure the guards, but the bandits were allowed to pass by unharmed. The Dunmer chief and the Breton woman were the last to leave. The former turned, just outside the doors.

“It is unsatisfying though, isn’t it?” he said. He levelled his crossbow and shot Nelkir in the leg. The Jarl yelped and dropped from Hrongar’s grip to flail bleeding beside his throne, the blood running down the dais.

Nebia laughed. “You got any openings?” she asked.

“Nebia,” said Sonja.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” said Nebia. “It’s just, I never get to shoot anyone in the leg.”

“Next time we’re near someone who needs shooting in the leg, you can use my bow,” said Aela.

By this time, the last bandits had departed. The kids Galt and Maeve, Thaegoth noticed, had taken shelter behind the robes of the now-standing Antario. There was a moment to breathe then, as everyone looked around at everyone else. Argis helped Brenuin to a chair.

It was then that Mirath, drenched in sweat, his sword drawn, came sagging down the stairs. He leaned heavily on the wall, threw up a little, and wiped his mouth. Everybody looked at him.

“What?” he asked. “Did I miss anything important?”


	43. Futures

Nelkir had apparently not noticed Dagny’s entrance into the hall, for when he did, he stopped screaming at the crossbow bolt in his leg to start screaming at her. Things deteriorated from there. Later, going over the events of that night, Sonja and Thaegoth found it hard to establish a clear chronological line through all the chaos. They could agree on a few things, though.

Nobody listened to Nelkir. Not even the guards who had been so loyal. He yelled for someone, anyone, to kill Dagny, kill Thaegoth, kill the bandits. Nobody listened. The fake bandit chief, seeing his position, became very willing to talk—though he paused frequently to curse his old comrades. He told everything he knew. Of how Nelkir had them kill Frothar by making it look like Balgruuf’s youngest son had fallen from his horse. Of how Nelkir had them kidnap Hrongar and leave him for the trolls in Labyrinthian. Of all that Nelkir had promised them in return.

Brenuin backed everything up, telling of how he had carried messages between the Silent Moons and Nelkir, receiving more gold than he’d ever seen in his life. Until Nelkir decided that Brenuin knew too much, and had the Silent Moons kill him. Almost successfully. Brenuin littered his tales with curses and snarls, but found a moment to quietly thank Argis the Bulwark and the Companions, without whom he’d be a carcass for the crows.

There was trouble when Commander Caius returned, with most of the city guard in tow. He demanded explanations, castigating everyone for allowing the Silent Moons to leave. He ordered that Nelkir be released and Dagny be returned to the dungeon. But upon hearing of their Jarl’s crimes, Caius’ guards also refused to obey him. And the Commander’s situation only worsened when an Imperial quaestor called Vaenius was brought into Dragonsreach.

He who’d had his nose broken by Nebia testified that it was Caius who came to him, paying much gold to stop any messages getting south to Dagny in the Imperial City. Caius became very quiet after that.

Nelkir was stripped of his title. Hrongar stood on the dais, seeming older than he had before that night. He said that Dagny would be Jarl and any who opposed her could come through him. There were no objections.

A messenger came for Antario. He slipped open the letter with a smile.

‘I took the liberty of informing High Queen Elisif ahead of time,’ he said. ‘She orders that Nelkir and Caius be sent to Solitude in chains for their trial.’

It was arranged so, the corrupt pair dragged from the hall. Vaenius and Brenuin followed, Argis supporting the latter. Their testimony would be needed when they reached Skyrim’s capital. Antario also added that Elisif supported Dagny as Jarl.

And so they dispersed. There was much letter-writing over the following days, as most of the Companions compiled their statements and had them sent on to Solitude for the trial. Some went to testify in person. Nobody in Whiterun spoke of anything else in the days that followed. Only of the blood that had been spilt in the great hall and the villainy that had been uncovered.

It was more than a week later until the Companions were all together again in Jorrvaskr, around the long table. Irileth and Charos were missing, being up at Dragonsreach, but Mirath had been properly inducted, his climb up the Great Porch praised and mocked in equal portions.

‘Those kids are still in the dungeon,’ said Aela.

‘I know,’ said Thaegoth.

‘I suggested they could slip away in the confusion,’ said Sonja. ‘But they wouldn’t have it. Went right back to their cell, said they wanted to serve the rest of their sentence.’

‘Ah, the wonders of rehabilitation,’ said Mirath.

Later, Thaegoth and Sonja slipped out the back of Jorrvaskr. They sat on one of the benches and kissed.

‘Normally,’ he said, ‘I’d ask where this was going. Is going. But after... all this that’s happened, I just want to ride this wherever it goes.’

‘Ride, you say,’ she said, grinning at him.

They kissed again, harder.

‘I mean, I agree,’ she said, afterwards. ‘Wholeheartedly.’

‘We haven’t had nearly enough time together lately,’ he said. ‘What with all these plots and politics.’

‘We can do jobs together,’ she said. ‘Always more jobs.’

It was then that Aela came outside. She hesitated, then closed the door behind her. She apologised, and Thaegoth and Sonja insisted simultaneously that it wasn’t necessary.

‘Look,’ said Aela, ‘I know everybody’s celebrating. But this isn’t over. The Silent Moons are still out there.’

‘You want us to scout the old camp?’ asked Sonja.

‘Thanks,’ said Aela. ‘I was hoping you’d volunteer.’

‘Neat trick they pulled with the fake chief,’ said Thaegoth.

‘That Dunmer had more charisma, sure,’ said Aela. She shrugged.

‘Maybe they don’t have a leader,’ said Thaegoth.

‘What, d’you reckon they have votes?’ asked Aela. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She stared out into the night that hung over Whiterun. ‘I don’t know that Dagny can be Jarl. After everything that’s happened, the people won’t… I don’t know.’

‘She could use your help,’ said Sonja.

‘We don’t do politics,’ said Aela, automatically.

‘Really, after everything that’s happened?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘Maybe times have changed,’ said Sonja. ‘Bandits going for the throne.’

Thaegoth shook his head. ‘Times have always been like this,’ he said. ‘But we’ve changed. The Companions. Maybe for the better.’

Aela sat on the bench across from them and looked at the ground.

‘I can’t get them out of my head,’ she said. ‘The old Companions.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But the new ones might be able to do more good than we ever did. Running round killing giants for glory. I’ll… help Dagny. However I can.’

‘First thing,’ said Mirath, slipping out of the door. ‘Tell her to keep Charos out of sight. He’s not helping her case.’

‘What are you, a political advisor now?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘I wonder if that Altmer’s job is available,’ said Mirath.

‘Dagny will need a housecarl,’ said Sonja, looking at Thaegoth.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not even if she asked me. My place is here.’ He looked over at Aela. ‘What about Irileth? Is she getting her old job back?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Aela. ‘I thought she… I don’t know.’

The next morning, Sonja and Thaegoth headed out of Whiterun. The guards were back in their old routines, though there was still a sense of flimsiness to it all. As if they had seen how close to the precipice they were and now could never lose that knowledge. Near the gates, the pair encountered Antario coming in. After civil greetings, Thaegoth asked something that had been bothering him.

‘At what point would you have intervened?’ he asked. ‘When the bandits were in Dragonsreach?’

Antario smiled. ‘The Companions appeared to have events well in hand,’ he said. ‘Although I had a spell ready in each hand, had the events slipped out of yours.’

‘A spell?’ said Sonja, surprised.

Antario’s hand lingered on the hilt of his golden sword. ‘I was not always an advisor to Elisif,’ he said. ‘There is a tale or two in me, I will admit.’

‘I think you’re being modest,’ said Thaegoth.

Antario just bowed and excused himself. Thaegoth and Sonja kept on their way, out to the old Silent Moons camp. Again they found it completely deserted. Already skeevers had moved in to chew on the remains. They walked through the remnants together, poking at pieces of the past in the hope of any clue. There was nothing.

‘All of Nelkir’s secrets came out and there’s still nothing to go on,’ said Thaegoth.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve got any more,’ said Sonja, half-joking. ‘Crimes out of the past who’ll come to haunt you?’

Thaegoth shrugged. ‘Do you?’

‘My mother died in childbirth,’ she said. ‘Father’s a guard in Markarth. Nothing haunt-worthy there.’

‘After my previous partner showing up on our doorstep twice, I don’t think I’ve got anything left,’ he said.

‘What?’ said Sonja. It took her a moment to put that together. ‘Mirath is... you were together?’

‘Was that not clear?’ said Thaegoth. He was interrupted by a call from the stairs that led up into the ruin. They trod out to the front, swords drawn, to find Hrongar, puffing from the trek up.

‘I needed to talk to you,’ he said, between heavy breaths. ‘In private. You remember what the chief said. The fake chief. About how Nelkir paid them, with a cursed sword. He came by it as a child. During the civil war we didn’t watch the children as close as we ought. He talked about a whispering door downstairs, but nobody listened. One day he came up with this horrendous sword. Black and curved. Just looking at the thing gave me nightmares. Nobody could take it off him. He said he got rid of it, but it seems not.’

‘He ever use it on anyone?’ asked Sonja.

‘No,’ said Hrongar. ‘But Farengar, the court mage back then, he said it was daedric. I’m worried. Nelkir was a little shit, but someone with power, who knows what they could do with that blade.’

‘He mentioned a witch in Morthal,’ said Thaegoth. ‘We’ll look into it.’

Hrongar thanked them and departed. Sonja and Thaegoth dawdled for a while longer, then admitted defeat and headed back towards Whiterun.

‘Mirath and I were done long ago,’ said Thaegoth, after there had been a long silence between them. ‘We parted on... more or less good terms. Though I don’t buy his motives for joining us. Thieves don’t just—’

‘Stop being thieves?’ asked Sonja. ‘Yeah, I’ve never seen that happen.’

‘Fair point,’ said Thaegoth, laughing. He looked at her. ‘We’re not going to cause a big drama over this?’

‘Drama is for children,’ she said. ‘You said it’s over. I believe you.’

And so that was that. Though it still irked Thaegoth when they ran into Mirath, coming out of Whiterun as they were coming in.

‘On my way to the meadery,’ he said. ‘A skeever infestation, apparently. Glorious days await.’

‘On your own?’ asked Sonja.

‘What, you don’t think I can handle a few rats?’ asked Mirath.

‘Keep your pride in your pants for a moment,’ said Thaegoth. ‘We don’t take jobs alone.’

‘Ah, the way of the Companions,’ said Mirath. ‘Still so mysterious to me.’

Thaegoth looked at Sonja, a question on his face.

‘You take it,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell Aela about the camp.’

So it was that Thaegoth and Mirath descended into the caves below Honningbrew Meadery. This had happened before, the owner said, and the Dragonborn herself had come down to deal with the damned creatures.

‘So, you and Sonja, hmm?’ said Mirath, as they headed deeper, dispatching skeevers without any trouble.

‘What do you really want to say?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘Nothing,’ said Mirath.

After the caves were clear, Thaegoth kept his sword drawn. He levelled it at Mirath.

‘What are you really doing here?’ he asked. ‘I know you. And this isn’t you.’

Mirath’s face prepared for a smirk, then broke. He lowered his sword.

‘Stab me if you want,’ he said. ‘I remembered what you said. In those ruins, getting the boots. Making a difference, a serious one. Look, the Guild down in Cyrodiil is about to collapse under its own bloated weight. I couldn’t even tell myself stories about stealing from the rich any more. I had to get out. Leave a positive trace somehow. Somewhere.’

Thaegoth took a breath, and lowered his blade. It would be hypocritical to not believe his old friend, he knew. Still.

‘I’ll keep an eye on you anyway,’ he said.

‘I’ve given you no reason to anything else,’ said Mirath.

‘You did climb the Great Porch,’ said Thaegoth.

‘And it was useless!’

Thaegoth shrugged. ‘That part doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘You still did it, were willing to do it and die.’ He remembered what Sonja had once told him. ‘There’s no single act that wins people over. You just gradually make them feel okay.’


	44. Relics of Childhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we rush towards the conclusion ('rush' being the operative word), this is the point where I mention my other story, _Curse of the Morning Star_. If you want another perspective on the Burned Woman, there it is. Her own, in fact. How she was changed and changed again. It's not necessary to appreciate this story, but it's there if you want it.

Dagny was crowned Jarl of Whiterun. The ceremony was small and matter-of-fact. She wanted something straightforward, she said, practical and without waste. A counterbalance to Nelkir’s excess. Hrongar immediately stepped down from the position of steward, and Proventus was found to return to that post. Brelyna Maryon, too, was called back from Winterhold where she’d returned after Nelkir had dismissed her as court mage.

Dagny gave a speech—to a small audience, it was true, but she’d chosen the guests wisely. Every word she said would soon be disseminated through the city and beyond.

‘My friends,’ she said. ‘There have been dark days upon Whiterun. But there have been dark days upon us before. When civil war knocked on our gates, we held firm. When dragons blocked out the sun, we held firm. Now, free from the grasp of these criminals that held sway over our city for too long, we will hold firm. I cannot promise you the world. What I can promise you is stability, and honesty. This hall is yours as well as mine, and if you have a problem with the way I rule, I wish you to come and tell me to my face. We have seen tyranny on this throne, and together we can prevent it from occurring again.’

There was some polite applause, finishing of drinks, and most of the guests made their leave. Irileth, across the room, signalled to Thaegoth, representative of the Companions at the coronation. Aela would have been there, but she’d vanished into the wilds, saying she was going to track down the Silent Moons.

So Thaegoth waited, until it was just Jarl Dagny, Hrongar, Irileth, Charos, and himself left in Dragonsreach. He felt a sense that he had been in this situation before and had a hunch what Dagny was going to say. He also knew what his answer would be.

‘There are still empty positions,’ she said. ‘Housecarl and guard commander. Irileth has declined both of them already.’

‘Thanks, my lady,’ said Irileth, doing a short bow, ‘but my time in this hall ended with your father’s death.’

Dagny was silent for a moment. ‘I understand.’ She turned to Hrongar. ‘Uncle, again I ask. There are so few I can trust with this.’

Hrongar grumbled under his breath. ‘I’ll take commander,’ he said. ‘But only til I can find someone to bring up from the ranks. Someone who don’t take or offer bribes, hopefully.’

‘Thank you,’ said Dagny. Now she turned to Thaegoth. ‘For all the help you’ve given me, Thaegoth, for all your experience in the role, I offer you the position of housecarl.’

Thaegoth knew he ought to leave a pause. He did, pretending to think it over, though his mind was already made up.

‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I am afraid I cannot accept. My place is with the Companions.’

‘Told you,’ murmured Irileth.

Thaegoth coughed. ‘If I might make a suggestion,’ he said. Dagny waved him on. ‘Do not appoint Charos to any official or indeed unofficial position. Though he is most competent, I’m sure, his presence here delegitimises your reign.’

‘Nords and their foreigners,’ said Charos. ‘Yes. I will leave. It will be for the best.’

‘No!’ said Dagny. ‘I couldn’t... I couldn’t stand that.’

‘There is no other solution,’ said Charos. ‘With me at your side, the Nords will always hate you. I am corrupting you, they will say. Devouring you.’

‘There must be some other way,’ said Dagny, looking desperately around at the others.

Thaegoth coughed again. ‘You could join the Companions,’ he said.

Irileth shrugged. ‘That was my plan,’ she said.

‘You would have me?’ Charos asked Thaegoth.

‘Gladly,’ he said.

‘Then I shall be here but not here,’ said Charos, with approval. ‘Separated but not disconnected. It is a good solution.’

‘Your ladyship still lacks a housecarl,’ said Hrongar.

‘I’ve been too long out of the city,’ Dagny admitted. ‘Who are the other possible candidates?’

Of those present, Irileth and Hrongar were most qualified to speak on the issue. Thaegoth could see them turning names over in their heads.

‘No Battle-Borns or Gray-Manes,’ said Irileth, ‘can’t be partisan. Uthgerd would be ideal, had she lived.’

‘Even Sinmir,’ said Hrongar.

‘Gods forgive me,’ said Irileth, ‘but when the Burned Woman killed Sinmir, I was relieved. The man was a liability. Too much strength and too little brains behind it.’

‘I will ask the other Companions,’ said Thaegoth. ‘Though I expect they will give the same answer I did.’

‘There’s Amren,’ said Hrongar. ‘Though he’s getting on.’

‘What about his daughter?’ said Irileth.

‘Braith?’ said Dagny, flinching further back into her throne.

‘She’s a mercenary these days,’ said Hrongar. ‘So I heard.’

‘A bounty-collector,’ said Irileth. ‘Dangerous work. I can ask her father how to get word to her.’

‘Braith was, uh,’ said Dagny. ‘She was the local bully, when we were children.’

‘You were not exactly flawless yourself,’ said Hrongar.

Dagny reddened slightly. ‘Yes, well. I suppose she might have grown too. There are no other candidates anyway. If you can find her, by all means, offer her the position.’

That was all that was required of Thaegoth in Dragonsreach. But when he returned to Jorrvaskr, he had two new Companions in tow: Charos and Irileth. Aela still hadn’t returned, but Sonja said they didn’t officially need her. The two new but familiar faces were inducted.

After that, Thaegoth and Sonja took a carriage to Morthal, on the trail of Nelkir’s cursed sword and the witch that the bandits said they’d sold it to. In the carriage, Thaegoth brought up something that had been bothering him.

‘That business with the fake chief,’ he said. ‘I don’t think that Dunmer’s the real chief either.’

‘Sounds confusing,’ said Sonja. ‘I mean, bandits aren’t famous for being clever. The layers of deception there...’

‘I think it’s the Breton woman,’ said Thaegoth. ‘Some of the others looked at her, almost accidentally. And I let her live.’ He stared out into the trees that rolled past them as the carriage headed north.

‘There’s no way you could’ve known, back then,’ said Sonja. She frowned. ‘I saw her, when she was leaving. It’d take a weird chief to not be chief.’

‘You’d stay alive longer,’ said Thaegoth. ‘I think she enjoys it. The, layers of deception, you said. When I caught her eye in Dragonsreach she was grinning. Brenuin said she was grinning as she tried to kill him.’

‘We’ll find her,’ said Sonja.

‘Yeah,’ said Thaegoth. ‘Still, if I’d just—’

‘Don’t. It’s not worth it. All those ifs, they send you insane.’

Thaegoth stopped. And when the doubts rose again in his head, he pushed them aside. Seeing Sonja smiling at him from across the carriage had a habit of removing everything else from his mind anyway.

The carriage dropped them outside Morthal. They walked down the narrow path into the town from the south. The air was chill, and the place quiet. Sonja had always found Morthal a little unsettling, for no reason that she could properly express. This only increased when the first guard they asked about a witch turned, spat, and walked away. The second looked at them for a long time.

‘We’re with the Companions,’ said Thaegoth. The guard’s face didn’t change. They gestured down the boardwalk to the east.

‘Last house,’ they said. ‘And if you happen to slip and she ends up on your sword, there won’t be any contradiction from us.’

Sonja was about to object to this, but Thaegoth dragged her away and down the boardwalk. ‘The hells is wrong with this place,’ she mumbled under her breath. Thaegoth knocked on the door of the house farthest along the wooden platforms. Sonja couldn’t shake the idea that they were about to give way at any point and send her down into the filthy dark water.

A young Nord woman answered the door, her dark hair all knotted and scraggly, her eyes heavily bloodshot. There was fire jumping between her fingers.

‘We, uh, we’re from the Companions,’ said Thaegoth. ‘We’re here about a sword you were sold.’

The woman looked at them for a moment, then the fire disappeared. ‘Heard little Nelkir got himself dethroned,’ she said. Her voice was dry with lack of use and she coughed before resuming. ‘I suppose you want to come in.’ She turned, leaving the door open, and retreated into the dim interior of the house.

Thaegoth and Sonja looked at each other.

‘Oh, after you,’ she said.

He stepped up the few steps and blinked a few times to help his eyes adjust, then stepped aside to make room for Sonja.

‘Close the door, I guess,’ said the woman. She was bustling around the room, sending small flames from her fingers to light lamps and candles and, eventually, a mass of torn paper in the hearth. Sonja closed the door, and the place was by then light enough for them to see properly.

Scrolls and books and artifacts of an unclear nature were stacked and piled on nearly every surface the house had to offer. There was clearly a path that the woman was taking to navigate the space, but the newcomers could not see it for themselves. They both decided to stay standing where they were.

‘So,’ said the woman, throwing a chair leg onto the fire. ‘Companions. I hear you’re not a bunch of insufferable Nord men this time. What’s your stance on witches, though?’ Thaegoth and Sonja stuttered and talked over each other. ‘I imagine they told you outside, the locals,’ said the woman, layering the last word with spite. ‘I’m Agni, though everybody here just calls me “the witch”. Which is accurate, but still. Mean in the spirit.’

‘We, uh,’ said Thaegoth. He realised he had no idea how to fight a mage, if things came to it. What’s the point of drawing your sword if they can incinerate you with a thought?

‘Oh, the sword,’ said Agni. ‘Gods, alright. Those Quiet Moonfaces came and sold it to me. They didn’t know what it was, not really. Knew it was powerful. Must’ve shown in my face, because they took every bit of gold I had for it. Doesn’t matter. I’ll get more.’

She grasped something from the mantelpiece and there it was: the black blade that Hrongar had warned them against. Slightly curved with a long handle, in the Akaviri style, the very air seemed to shy away from it. Agni looked at it with appreciation.

‘I looked for a scabbard,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t seem there is one. Inconvenient, but the thing has potential. Belongs to Mephala. I’ve been doing some reading,’ she added, gesturing vaguely at the contents of the room. ‘You can’t have it.’

‘We don’t want it,’ said Thaegoth, quickly.

‘Didn’t there used to be a wizard here?’ asked Sonja, looking around the room. There were two beds, though one was almost completely submerged under the mess. ‘Fallon? Fallow?’

‘Falion,’ said Agni. She smiled. ‘He’s gone now.’

Sonja’s hand dropped to her sword. ‘We should kill her,’ she said.

Agni laughed. She held the ebony blade like she had no idea how to wield it. Still Thaegoth was terrified. Then Agni shrugged. ‘I’m leaving soon, anyway. Out of your jurisdiction. Overstayed my welcome here by some years. Still, I have something for you. Consider it a parting gift.’

‘What could you possibly have that we want?’ asked Sonja. Her grip tightened on her sword handle, though she did not draw.

‘A way to find the Burned Woman,’ said Agni.

Sonja hissed. Thaegoth was silent, watching her reaction. A way to find the woman who had crawled over the wall of Whiterun and massacred the old Companions. At last, a way towards revenge.

‘Nobody has that,’ said Sonja. ‘She vanished. Into the earth, they said. Some filthy cave, down with the monsters where she belongs.’

‘Maybe,’ said Agni. ‘I don’t think so. I met her, you know. Twice. The first time, before she was who she became. She was already burned, then, though nobody called her the Burned Woman.’

‘What did they call her?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘I never discovered a name,’ said Agni. ‘She came here with a friend, working for the Dawnguard.’

‘The Dawnguard would never… with her,’ insisted Sonja.

Thaegoth made a noise of agreement. He hadn’t heard much about Skyrim’s vampire hunters—and mostly negative things about their leader, Isran—but enough to know they wouldn’t sanction a killer like the Burned Woman.

‘It was before then, I said,’ said Agni. ‘She came with a friend. Hid her face, but I remembered her when she showed up later. It had been a year, but I remembered. Crawled out of the river, half of Skyrim on her tail.’

‘And you did nothing?’ asked Sonja.

‘I was just a girl,’ said Agni. She paused, then laughed. ‘I liked her. Power in her like nothing in this world.’

‘They say she can’t die,’ said Sonja.

‘Wise to believe it,’ said Agni. ‘Anyway, go knocking on the Dawnguard’s door. Ask about a woman with burn scars on her face. Can’t be too many of them running around. Ask about her friend. Serana, her name was. Now get out of my house. I have to pack.’

Thaegoth was only too willing. He opened the door and was halfway down the steps, Sonja coming slower behind him, when Agni said, ‘Wait.’

Sonja turned, still mostly in the room. Agni levelled the cursed sword at her.

‘You’ve got magic in you,’ said the witch. ‘Untapped reserves.’ She tilted her head. ‘Buried deep, but it’s there.’

‘What?’ said Sonja. ‘How... why should I believe you? What am I supposed to do, anyway?’

‘Whatever you want,’ said Agni. ‘Bribe a witch to train you. Not me. Go south to those fancy mages in their Imperial towers. Trudge up to fucking Winterhold. Or do nothing. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ She bowed slightly.

Sonja stepped back, and Agni shut the door in her face. She and Thaegoth were left on the slippery boardwalk. They’d gotten far more than they’d expected, but all they could do was stand in silence. Too many futures spread out in front of them.


	45. The Chief

When Sonja and Thaegoth returned to Whiterun, they found the kids, Galt and Maeve, loitering outside the exterior wall of Jorrvaskr. Their faces lit up as the Companions approached, though Maeve attempted to suppress it.

‘You finish your sentence?’ said Thaegoth.

‘The new Jarl lady said—’ began Galt.

‘Dagny said we were done,’ finished Maeve. She looked up at Thaegoth, with a slight waver in her voice. ‘You said you’ve give us a job.’

Sonja shrugged. ‘We could use someone to clean up around the hall.’

‘You want us to wipe your arses too?’ asked Maeve.

‘No, no, that’s not what she meant,’ said Thaegoth. ‘You’ll be... squires. Keeping the place in order. Training to be ready to be full members of the Companions, when you’re old enough.’

Galt grinned from ear to ear. He looked at his sister, who rolled her eyes.

‘Like we’re going to get a better offer,’ said Maeve.

‘Then welcome to the ranks!’ said Thaegoth. He ushered them inside, smiling at Sonja as he followed them. She held back for a moment. She’d felt a flush of uncertainty at first. The kids were thieves. Ex-bandits, at a stretch. But Thaegoth hadn’t gone back to his old ways, even with Mirath around as a reminder. Maybe there was something to this idea of his about rehabilitation. She followed them inside, where everybody had halted. Aela had returned, dirty and tired, but whole.

‘We’ve discovered,’ Sonja tried to begin.

‘It can wait,’ said Aela.

‘But it’s…’

‘Our job comes first,’ said the Huntress. ‘I found the Silent Moons, and we need to go before they move again. Get everybody in here. Thorald too.’ She looked for the first time at Galt and Maeve.

‘Can we come?’ asked Galt.

‘No,’ said Aela.

The Companions gathered in Jorrvaskr, armed and armoured. Aela watched them assemble. Sonja with her round shield and Thaegoth with his Skyforge sword. Nebia with her mace and Yanakh with her long light orcish blade. Mirath with his thin longsword—and the crossbow he’d threatened Sonja with, recovered from where it had been left downstairs. Charos in his mix of hide and fur, a new battleaxe in his hands. And Irileth with her weathered equipment, her face much the same. She came up and gently grasped Aela’s arm, pulling her back into the moment.

‘So you’re saying we definitely can’t come,’ said Galt.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Thorald, shuffling behind him and ruffling his hair. ‘I’ll teach you two how to split a skull.’ Galt cheered and even Maeve looked pleased.

‘We’ll talk on the way,’ said Aela. ‘Thorald, the hall is yours.’

‘Where are we going?’ asked Irileth, gently.

‘Bloated Man’s Grotto,’ replied the Huntress.

The full complement of Companions headed out. Eight in all, drawing the eyes of Whiterun as they passed. Once they were out of the city and heading along the west road, Thaegoth wondered aloud the last time all the Companions had fought together.

‘This is the third, in my time,’ said Aela. ‘Second was helping Gyl at the Battle of Helgen.’

‘Closing the Oblivion gate the Thalmor opened there,’ said Irileth. ‘Bloody business, it was. But the Dragonborn called, and we came.’

Aela just grunted. ‘And the first was hunting the Silver Hand, who killed Kodlak.’ She was silent for a time. ‘He was Harbinger when I joined. Just a girl.’

‘A girl who could already track like nobody else,’ said Irileth, smiling.

Which is what Aela had done during her absence, it was revealed. She’d followed the spoor of the Silent Moons, sifting their tracks from the chaos of others near Whiterun. She’d spent days ruling out false leads, doubling back and circling around, talking to other travellers, until there was only one trail left to follow.

There was a single guard outside the Grotto, almost hidden by the bushes. Aela took him out with a single arrow, then turned to the Companions.

‘I’m going in first,’ she said. She pulled out a sack and started stripping off her armour, stuffing that and her weapons into it. ‘You all follow, but stay out of my way.’

Naked, she stood for a moment, breathing heavily. The muscles across her back rippled and shifted. A low noise came from her throat, far from anything a human was capable of. She crouched, then sprinted through the opening of the Grotto. There was a single scream, recognisable as hers, which transitioned into an animalistic roar. There were other screams and shouts, and Irileth, gathering up the sack of Aela’s possessions, urged the Companions on.

Inside was chaos. Bloated Man’s Grotto was mostly a series of winding narrow passages. High stone barriers, matted with musty greenery, barred their way. Often the path devolved into low musty pools of water. The Companions soon became separated, each engaged in their own bloody battles against the Silent Moons.

Irileth and Sonja stuck together, attempting to shadow Aela. Watching each other’s back, passing Aela’s sack between them as necessary, they saw only flashes of dark fur, heard the howls, and trod over the tattered bodies that the werewolf left in her wake.

‘You knew about this?’ asked Sonja as they pushed forward.

Irileth paused to deflect a blow from a bandit that leapt from a hidden cleft. She pivoted, let the bandit’s momentum carry them into the opposite wall, and then hacked into their neck.

‘I did,’ she said. ‘She would have told you, eventually.’

‘I know,’ said Sonja, and pressed forward, shield raised.

Thaegoth ended up with Charos, the large Redguard with his axe soon splattering much blood upon the walls of the Grotto. Thaegoth watched his back, made swift short cuts, and was thankful again for the strength of his sword. Multiple times they saw the others, Nebia cackling and bleeding, Mirath calmly loading more bolts into his crossbow while Yanakh covered him. Often they would pull together only to lose each other again in the maze of the Grotto.

Thaegoth himself lost the others once he saw the Breton woman. She grinned at him from down a passage, raised a shimmering hand, and vanished. His heartrate spiked. A mage! He watched for footsteps in the pools of water, but saw nothing. He raced down the passage, looking for that tell-tale shimmer in the air.

Instead he saw the glint of a knife spinning towards him. He leapt aside and it clattered off stone. He heard laughter, and he ran on. He found himself in what seemed a central chamber, roughly round, with a low pool on one side and four or five ways in. The sky was clear above them. Ahead of him came a curse, and the Breton woman reappeared.

‘Thaegoth, isn’t it?’ she said. She was still smiling, and there was another knife in her hand.

‘You have me at a disadvantage,’ he said.

She laughed, and did a short bow. ‘Gwynara Valin,’ she said. ‘Entirely not at your service.’

From behind her emerged a great brown beast, twice as tall as her, its jaws red with blood. Its eyes were entirely unrecognisable as Aela’s. Thaegoth’s expression must have given it away, from Gwynara turned, her smile vanishing.

The werewolf lunged, faster than Thaegoth would have thought something of that size could move. Gwynara formed a spell in her free hand and cast it. The impact of it on the werewolf’s chest made a sound like a distant scream. The werewolf was flung back into the pool, thrashing and howling. Thaegoth saw that she was gradually returning to her human form.

From another entry came Sonja and Irileth, the latter hurrying over to help Aela. Sonja fell in beside Thaegoth.

‘This is her, then,’ said Sonja.

Gwynara rolled her eyes. Red light cascaded between her fingers, then swept over Sonja and Thaegoth. Both were filled with an instantaneous and overwhelming fury. Their limbs outside their own control, they turned on each other. Both swung and parried frantically, their movements faster than ever before. Both remembered the time they’d fought before, during Thaegoth’s test of arms. Both knew that the tiniest mistake could result in a deadly blow coming their way.

‘I’d love to stay and gloat,’ said Gwynara, ‘but—’

Aela, fully human again, rose from the pool with her bow. In short succession, three arrows were driven into Gwynara’s chest.

The fury spell faded. Thaegoth and Sonja hurriedly broke apart. They breathed heavily, looking at each other. Sonja stepped forward, yanked his head up, and kissed him hard.

Aela pulled on the rest of her armour and stomped past them to where Gwynara was spluttering blood. Aela pulled a healing potion out and forced it down the bandit chief’s throat. Gwynara was startled, but drank. When she was finished, her smile reappeared, but shortly vanished as Aela elbowed her in the side of the head. Gwynara went down, unconscious. Aela snorted over the chief’s form.

‘She’ll live,’ she said.

Gradually the other Companions found their way to the central room. Some wounded, all bloody and tired. Some dragged prisoners with them.

‘Any get out?’ asked Aela.

Charos shook his head. ‘I thought of that,’ he said, ‘and returned to the entrance. From the tracks, none had passed before me. And none got past me while I held the way.’

‘Good,’ said Aela. She rummaged in her sack, bringing out a pair of shackles. Blue light flickered and glowed around them. ‘Magicka drain,’ she said. ‘We’ve fought mages before, you know.’

Sonja and Thaegoth finally broke apart. Most of the others were grinning at them.

‘Oh,’ said Thaegoth. ‘So, we won?’

‘What happens if she comes round?’ asked Sonja.

Aela shrugged, fastening the shackles around the wrists of the unconscious Gwynara. ‘Then I’ll hit her again,’ she said.

Nebia grinned redly. ‘I volunteer to assist,’ she said.

Aela and Irileth hauled up the bandit chief.

‘Well come on,’ said the Harbinger. ‘There’s some celebratory drinking to be done.’


	46. Dayspring

What remained of the Silent Moons were consigned to the dungeons beneath Dragonsreach. Gwynara Valin was kept in her magicka-draining shackles. She wasn’t smiling any more, Thaegoth noticed.

The Companions celebrated and tended their wounds. All of them had taken cuts and blows in the running fight through Bloated Man’s Grotto. Even Aela—it seemed wounds gained while in werewolf form remained once she was human again. It was a few days later before she found Sonja and Thaegoth out the back, practicing their archery.

‘You wanted to tell me something,’ said Aela. ‘When you got back from... wherever you’d been.’

‘Morthal,’ said Sonja. ‘Hrongar wanted us to check up on the cursed sword that Nelkir used to own.’

‘Oh, that damned thing,’ said Aela. She looked away. ‘It was the war. Balgruuf had other priorities. Did you find it?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Thaegoth. ‘A witch had it. But that’s not what we wanted to tell you. She told us... maybe you should tell her,’ he added, looking at Sonja, who shook her head. Thaegoth cleared his throat. ‘She gave us a lead to find the Burned Woman.’

Aela took a step back. ‘She... witches do know things, in my experience.’ She swallowed. Something rose in her and was suppressed. ‘I’m too tired for revenge,’ she said.

Sonja’s mouth moved, but no words came out.

‘She’s a criminal, either way,’ provided Thaegoth. ‘A murderer. She ought to be brought to justice.’

Aela sighed and looked at the sky. ‘That is what we do. But she... the Burned Woman destroyed the Companions. Cut down who knows how many guards. Others, we don’t know. How can we fight that?’

‘She didn’t destroy us,’ said Sonja.

Aela was silent for a moment. ‘I know. But that’s down to you, both of you. Not me. You want to try and bring the Burned Woman to justice, you have my support. But I won’t push the knife.’

‘Understood,’ said Thaegoth. He looked at Sonja and gestured at her to go on. She scrunched up her face, then spoke.

‘There’s something else.’ Aela waited expectantly. ‘The witch, Agni, she said I’ve got magic… potential to use it, anyway. It’s probably nothing, but I thought—’

‘That if you were going up against the most powerful person in Skyrim since the Dovahkiin,’ said Aela, ‘you might need all the help you can get.’ She nodded. ‘Go to Winterhold. See if they can teach you. There are enough of us here now that we can manage without you. Take Yanakh, she knows the mages, maybe she can get you in.’

‘We could use a mage in the Companions,’ said Thaegoth.

‘I’m not a mage,’ said Sonja, low but insistent.

Aela laughed. ‘You haven’t seen the current Archmage fight. Walking fucking maelstrom, he is.’ She grimaced suddenly. ‘Where’s this lead?’

‘With the Dawnguard,’ said Thaegoth.

‘Ah,’ said Aela. She scratched her chin. ‘Don’t go alone,’ she said.

‘We’ll go together,’ said Sonja.

‘No, you’re going to Winterhold,’ said Aela. ‘Thaegoth, take Irileth and... Charos. They won’t take kindly to being associated with the Burned Woman. You’ll need people who won’t do something stupid.’

‘But you’re sending Thaegoth,’ said Sonja, grinning. He shoved her, but she didn’t give an inch. Her return shove made him stagger, however.

So the lovers went their separate ways. Yanakh was completely willing, excited even, to return to Winterhold where she had spent so much time and knew so many people.

‘If I have a home other than Jorrvaskr, it’s there,’ she said.

They agreed to walk, stopping over at the Nightgate Inn.

‘You’re trying to postpone things,’ said Thaegoth before they left.

‘So what if I am,’ said Sonja. ‘I don’t belong up there in the snow. I belong here, with the Companions. With you.’

They kissed, and departed. Thaegoth, Irileth, and Charos took the carriage, heading for Riften. In the back, Irileth facing the two men, Charos cleared his throat.

‘The stories,’ he said. ‘Relating to this Burned Woman. They are all true?’

Irileth sighed. ‘We don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s... less than a year since the old Companions were killed. About a year before that, she appeared. Got in some bar fight in Windhelm and killed a man. No good of a man, but there it was.’ She counted them off on her fingers. ‘Then there was the man who used to own the mine in Dawnstar. Then there was Sinmir, in Whiterun. A drunk and a letch and a fool, but she killed him. Broad daylight, in the market.’

‘Your guards, they are fools,’ said Charos.

Irileth gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t think I didn’t say that at the time.’ She stared out at the passing landscape for a long time. ‘Then she went to Falkreath and killed the Jarl.’

‘I heard some people thanked her for that,’ said Thaegoth.

‘Maybe they did,’ said Irileth. ‘But that would have been before everything else came out. She went to Markarth, killed some overseer. She got sloppy, then. Word was getting around, between the cities. She killed someone in Morthal. A guard, I think. Turned herself in when she got to Solitude.’

‘Turned herself in?’ asked Thaegoth. He hadn’t heard that part of the story before. It didn’t fit with the mostly savage descriptions he’d heard of her.

‘Yeah,’ said Irileth. ‘Some of the tales leave that out. But I know Aldis, the guard captain there. Said she confessed to all the murders and more. She was on the block, axe in the air. This part’s clear, ask anyone. Big audience. And she busts out. Tears the chains off herself, kills the executioner, and flees Solitude.’

‘One imagines that even your inept guards would pursue such a trail,’ said Charos.

‘They did,’ said Irileth. ‘I’ve never seen a hunt like it. Every hold was called in. Companions too, for a time. Most never got close to her. Those who did said she wouldn’t die. That she bled and she screamed, but she didn’t die.’

‘Everybody dies,’ said Charos.

‘Not her,’ said Irileth. ‘Anyway, they lost her. Until she crawled over the wall of Jorrvaskr a year later and massacred the old Companions. Aela and Sonja were hunting wolves out Rorikstead way. She would’ve only just joined. Aela’s never forgiven herself.’

‘If she’d been there, she would’ve died too,’ said Thaegoth.

‘That’s what I told her,’ said Irileth. ‘Doesn’t stop the guilt, though.’

On the rest of the journey, Thaegoth told Irileth and Charos about the trip to Morthal, and the encounter with Agni the witch. Charos watched the passing landscape with interest, as the scene changed from the harshness of Eastmarch to the warmer-coloured flora of the Rift.

They disembarked at the city of Riften but did not enter. Instead, Irileth led them around the walls and to the east, following a less-travelled path towards the mountains.

‘Down here,’ she said eventually. They headed down a dark passage in the side of the rock, narrow enough that they had to progress in single file. It was only a short time, however, before they emerged into Dayspring Canyon. They followed the only path forward.

‘Odd that it’s not guarded,’ said Thaegoth.

‘We’ve been noticed,’ said Charos, his eyes flicking up to the higher peaks.

‘Fort Dawnguard is probably the least assailable place in Skyrim,’ said Irileth. ‘I don’t think they’d be worried about us.’

‘Who are these Dawnguard?’ asked Charos. ‘That they need these defences?’

‘Vampire hunters,’ said Irileth. ‘Killed a huge nest of them, out Haafingar way, a few years back. And they’ve spent the years since then destroying all the goodwill that bought them.’

‘How?’ asked Thaegoth, scanning the peaks but seeing no movement. ‘There are still vampires in Skyrim, surely.’

‘Sure,’ said Irileth. ‘But they’ve gone underground, mostly. Dawnguard go around, trying to expose them. Finding the thralls. Sometimes they get it wrong. Not to mention Isran is… not the most charismatic leader.’

When the Fort itself came into sight, Thaegoth could well believe what Irileth had said about its unassailability. The stone edifice was immense, larger than any construction he’d seen in Skyrim. It would have rivalled the old Nordic ruins in their prime. The Companions, however, were not allowed to do more than observe, as they were halted at an outer palisade.

Thaegoth announced them, and that they wanted to ask about a woman called Serana. The guard told them to wait. Which they did, for what felt like an hour. It was still a long stretch to the Fort proper, but they could hear raised voices, one dominating all the rest.

‘That’d be Isran,’ said Irileth, rolling her eyes.

Some time after that, the outer gate opened and an aged orc in heavy red armour—a design that Thaegoth hadn’t seen before—trod out to meet them. He had a crossbow on his back and a heavy axe at his hip. He introduced himself as Durak, and apologised for keeping them waiting.

Thaegoth assured him it was fine, and introduced himself and the others.

‘We’re looking for a woman called Serana,’ he said, ‘who works or used to work with you.’

‘To what end?’ asked Durak.

Thaegoth looked at Irileth, who gestured him onwards.

‘We’re looking for the Burned Woman,’ he said.

Durak stiffened. ‘I knew,’ he said. ‘When you said you were Companions, I knew. It is good you have rebuilt. I knew you would come, after what happened to your brothers and sisters.’

‘You know where we can find her,’ said Thaegoth.

‘No,’ said Durak. ‘But I knew her, before. She came to us, burned but strong. Stronger than anyone I’ve known. Her name, then, was Kara. She found Serana in a crypt. A long story. They fought together for a long time. After we won victory at Volkihar, Kara left us. Disappeared.’

‘Kara,’ said Irileth, under her breath, frowning.

‘Yes,’ said Durak. ‘Serana returned here, alone. There was... a fight. She thought the Elder Scroll we had borrowed, and the ones we had found, ought to be given to the College of Winterhold. Isran disagreed. He always hated her, but the fight ended in her favour. She wasn’t a vampire anymore, you see.’

‘Serana’s a vampire?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘She was,’ said Durak. He shrugged. ‘There are ways to lift the curse, and she must have found one.’ He smiled distantly. ‘Isran was surprised. Serana left, the scrolls with her. She did not return.’

‘And Kara?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘She came back, later,’ said Durak. ‘She was convinced, and, I say with shame, with reasonable cause, that Isran had done away with Serana. She dangled him out over our foyer until he told her what had happened. Then she vanished again. We have seen neither since.’

‘You knew,’ said Irileth. ‘All this time you’ve known who she was.’

‘We did not know,’ said Durak. ‘She left us, and became something else. We heard, of course. The Burned Woman. Strong and unkillable. It could only have been her. Isran forbade us to speak of her.’

Thaegoth looked at his fellow Companions.

‘Winterhold, then,’ he said. Where Sonja was heading. Perhaps she was already there, learning spells from Skyrim’s greatest mages. Irileth had already turned and started walking away. Thaegoth thanked Durak, then followed. Charos lingered for a moment.

‘You will not wish my advice,’ he said. ‘But you should change leaders.’ He turned and headed after the others.

Outside Dayspring Canyon, the three Companions hesitated. They knew much more than they had before, yet Thaegoth wished they had not. Maybe Aela had been right, to stay out of this. If they dug deeper, how many other horrors would they unearth?

‘Kara,’ said Irileth. ‘It’s too common a name, but... there’s some memory I can’t quite reach. Like I’ve heard it before, somewhere. I don’t know.’ She looked at both of them. ‘We should tell Aela where we’re going.’

‘I shall return to Jorrvaskr,’ said Charos, ‘and inform her.’ He hesitated, staring back at the cave that led to Fort Dawnguard. ‘There is one thing I do not understand. Nobody has mentioned it. Why did the Burned Woman do these things? These murders? It does not make sense.’

Irileth sighed. ‘Nobody knows,’ she said.

‘Maybe we’ll find out,’ said Thaegoth, ‘in Winterhold.’

‘You just want to see Sonja,’ said Irileth, as they headed northwards.

‘Am I so transparent?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Charos.


	47. Test of Mind

As Thaegoth, Irileth, and Charos headed for Fort Dawnguard, Sonja and Yanakh went north, bound for the College of Winterhold. Yanakh had convinced Sonja to travel without her usual heavy armour, just in leather and fur—the better for walking, and the better for dealing with Winterhold’s intense cold. Yanakh herself had brought a long fur cloak that she wrapped around herself as they left the Nightgate Inn and headed into Winterhold proper.

The snow was only an inch or two thick, which Yanakh said was about the best you could hope for. She sniffed the air.

‘There’s a blizzard coming, though,’ she said.

She trod faster, and Sonja increased her pace to keep up, breathing heavily, her breath hanging in the air before her.

‘I hear they’ve rebuilt,’ she said, wondering if speech would keep her warm.

‘See for yourself,’ said Yanakh. ‘Well, in a moment. We’re not there yet. This is Whistling Mine, though.’

They came around a corner and saw two buildings flanking a cave opening. On the left was a small wooden structure, with a squat two-storey tower protruding from the roof, wrapped around a chimney. A thin trail of smoke came from the chimney, and a guard in many layers of furs waved to Yanakh as the pair approached.

On the right was a larger, wider one-storey building. A much larger chimney down one end bellowed dark smoke, and Sonja knew from the noise and the smell that this was a smelter. Yanakh gestured.

‘Guardpost,’ she said, pointing at the smaller building. ‘Smelter and miner’s quarters,’ she added, pointing at the larger building. ‘And the mine.’ Pointing down the cleft this time, where hanging lanterns illuminated a path that quickly cut out of view.

‘Does it... whistle?’ asked Sonja.

‘It did!’ said Yanakh. ‘It was the ghosts of some old kings. Long story. They stopped that. Now there’s a little bit of wind-related whistling, nothing spooky. Come on.’

They kept onwards, heading for Winterhold town. It wasn’t far from the mine, and though Sonja had never seen it before, it didn’t mesh at all with the impressions she’d had, the stories she’d been told about the Great Collapse. Yanakh pointed out the features as they trod through town. Stables, barracks and jail, forge, alchemy and magic supplies, general store, inn, new houses going up behind. They were looking into ways to expand up the hill to the west, she said, as well as raising the land that had been lost.

‘They can do that?’ asked Sonja. ‘With magic?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Yanakh. ‘If anyone can, it’s Vash.’

‘Who?’

‘You’ll meet him in a moment.’

Yanakh led Sonja to the edge of town and up a narrow stone bridge that extended over a massive drop to the ocean. Sonja clung to the railing, her head reeling. She made some incoherent noise.

‘Oh,’ said Yanakh. ‘Yeah. You get used to it. Here.’

She took Sonja’s hand, firm and warm, and led her across. Sonja kept her eyes on Yanakh’s back. There was a gate at the end of the bridge, but it swung open on their approach. Yanakh smiled back at Sonja.

‘It knows who I am,’ she said, seeming very pleased with this.

She led Sonja through the courtyard to the main building, Sonja gazing up all the time at the huge stone walls. Yanakh let go of her hand to push the main doors open. Inside, the foyer was warm and welcoming. Yanakh told her to wait, and slipped through the gate that blocked them from the full hall. Figures in robes were visible in that vast space, light of different colours weaving around their hands, extending into different shapes. Glowing rings that hung in the air, flames that danced, and others, less certain in their effects, which seemed to deliberately slide away when Sonja tried to focus on them.

Yanakh approached, staying well away from the action, and attracted the attention of another orc, this one with a shaved head and a grey beard, though his face seemed too young for that colour. He looked over at Sonja and she found herself hurriedly examining her boots. It was a neat replica, she realised, of the feelings she’d had when joining the Companions.

Yanakh came back over.

‘They’re almost done,’ she said. It was only a few minutes before the mages came out. Most greeted Yanakh with warmth—one introduced herself to Sonja too, a small Bosmer called Falin. Eventually, the hall was clear and Yanakh brought Sonja through the gate to meet the grey-bearded orc, who greeted her with a smile and a very strong handshake.

‘Sonja of the Companions, meet Vash gro-Winterhold, our Archmage,’ said Yanakh.

‘I’m sure there’s no place for me here,’ said Sonja. ‘You’re all... and I’m…’

‘You’re not the only warrior to walk these halls,’ said Vash. ‘Many have wielded a sword as well as a spell.’ He held a hand out to the side and a great shimmering blade appeared in it. He gave it a few swings, then dismissed it.

‘Works great until you run out of magicka,’ said Yanakh.

Vash grinned, suddenly seeming much younger. ‘That has literally never happened,’ he said.

‘I don’t,’ said Sonja, ‘I don’t know. I’ve never done a spell. A witch told me I had something in me.’

‘Witches are good at noticing those things,’ said Vash. ‘Come over here.’ He guided Sonja until she was standing a few feet from the far wall. He stood on one side, slightly behind, while Yanakh took a place on the other. ‘Now,’ said the Archmage. ‘Let’s start with fire.’

‘Why?’ asked Sonja.

‘Easy to do much with little of it,’ said Vash. ‘Now, close your eyes and hold out your hand. Palm up.’

Sonja did so. She heard the sound of her own breathing, the creaking of Yanakh’s leather as she folded her arms, the swish of Vash’s robes and the low whisper of his voice near her ear.

‘Picture a flame,’ he said. ‘Small and self-contained. Like a candle. Alone in a void.’

Sonja did. There it was, flickering and doubtful. She included a candlewick, then remembered to get rid of it. The flame bent in some mental wind, then righted itself. Nothing else, she told herself. The flame became steadier.

‘I need you to believe in that flame,’ said Vash. ‘I need that belief to come from not just your head, but from your chest. From down in your gut. From everywhere. I want to see the belief leaking out through your skin. So that in a moment, when I ask you to open your eyes, the flame will be sitting in your hand.’

Sonja swallowed. She strained. She felt her muscles tense, her brain dilute to just instinct and reflexes, like it did during a fight. Trained emptiness, considered emptiness. She opened her eyes.

The flame was in her hand.

Her entire body flinched away. The flame disappeared.

‘What the fuck,’ she said, very quietly.

‘Excellent,’ said Vash. ‘Now do it again.’

Which she did. And then again. And every time it was slightly easier. Until she could hold the flame in her hand and converse at the same time, though she kept a wary eye on it. The next step, she was told, was to throw it. This proved far more difficult. Most times she could only get the flame to travel a foot in a declining arc before it spluttered on the stone floor. Eventually, Vash called a halt.

‘You’ve got great promise,’ he said. ‘If you wish to enrol, we’d be happy to have you.’

Sonja chewed that over. ‘And I wouldn’t be out of place?’

‘Not at all,’ said Vash. ‘There are plenty here and in town who’d be willing to practice with you, to keep your physical skills in shape.’ He ran them off on his fingers. ‘Asma made a career out of duelling, I understand, back in Hammerfell. Kureeth, one of our guards here, is the finest bare-knuckle brawler in the land. And I myself can summon a blade, if the need rises.’

‘He’s being modest,’ said Yanakh, clapping Vash on the shoulder. ‘Fights like a bloody demon, he does. I can’t think of anyone who could take him down.’

Vash smiled. ‘There are a few,’ he said.

‘Let me guess,’ said Sonja, ‘the Dragonborn.’

‘Among others. How did you know?’ asked Vash.

‘You knew her, right? Everybody but me seems to have known her.’

‘She is that way, yes,’ he said.

Sonja grunted. The prospect of enrolling filled her head again. No distractions, she told herself. She held out her hand and summoned the flame again. She smiled.

‘You won’t find a better teacher than Vash,’ said Yanakh.

‘And the other mages,’ said Vash. ‘The expertise in these halls is considerable.’

‘Then... I accept,’ said Sonja. She looked at Yanakh. ‘Could you carry a letter to Thaegoth for me?’

‘You can leave, you know,’ said Vash. ‘This is no prison. There are many excursions, particularly for new students. And you are free to split your time between here and Jorrvaskr.’ He held out his hand and gestured. Sonja dismissed her summoned flame and was again taken into the Archmage’s strong grip. ‘Welcome to the College of Winterhold,’ he said.


	48. Snowblind

Thaegoth and Irileth separated from Charos near Windhelm. He headed west back to Whiterun, while they trekked north for Winterhold. They had not dressed for the climate, and both had their arms wrapped tightly around themselves as they walked on. Thaegoth had never seen Winterhold for himself, and only had impressions formed from his short time in Skyrim. He found himself curious, and asked Irileth what the town was like.

‘I haven’t been there in years,’ she said. ‘Half the town fell into the sea, long time ago. I hear the new Archmage is restoring things.’ She paused. ‘Well, I suppose he’s not that new anymore.’

They’d just turned down the road that led to Winterhold when the snow started falling. Evening was coming on, too. Soon the way was blanketed with white, and their pace dropped from steady going, down to a slow excruciating trudge.

‘We’ve got to stop,’ said Irileth. ‘There’s a fort up ahead, I think.’

And indeed there was, stone walls surrounding a wide courtyard, and the fort itself built into the side of the mountain. Fort Kastav, Irileth remembered. The Imperials took it from the Stormcloaks, during the war. The Dragonborn had summoned down lightning to blast the defenders from their barricades. Or so the story went.

The Imperial legionnaires stationed in the fort welcomed the pair, seemingly proud to have Companions in their midst. They confirmed that a pair fitting Sonja and Yanakh’s description had indeed also passed through, earlier that morning. They could not, however, shed any light on the ex-vampire Serana. The Prefect in charge conducted Thaegoth and Irileth to the guest quarters and personally lit their fire for them. When Thaegoth mentioned Kara, however, he straightened, his face clouded over with an old hatred.

‘Wouldn’t be Kara Stormblade, would it?’ he asked.

‘It might,’ said Thaegoth. ‘Who was she?’

The Prefect grimaced. ‘War’s ancient history now,’ he said. ‘But I remember. She was a Stormcloak. Ulfric’s commander in the field. She’d burst from nowhere, cut up a bunch of us, then vanish into the wilds. Never got a good swing at her, myself, though I tried more than once.’

‘What happened to her?’ asked Irileth, tending to the fire.

‘Don’t know,’ said the Prefect. ‘I thought she got hers when Windhelm fell, but... I never any tale about it. All the Stormcloaks that weren’t dead just went back to their old lives, after the war. Windhelm guard’s full of them.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Plenty of ’em in the Legion, now. Ain’t that something?’

‘So she could have escaped?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘Sure,’ said the Prefect. ‘They had camps all over, hidden in every Hold. We mopped them up, after the war, but they knew the terrain better than us. Would’ve been easy to just vanish.’ He looked around the room. ‘I got to get back. I’ll send some food down. Let me know if you need anything else.’ He exited.

Thaegoth and Irileth sat in silence, near the fire, until a servant came by with some food. Irileth thanked them, and the pair fell to eating.

‘A Stormcloak,’ said Thaegoth, eventually.

‘You know what that means?’ asked Irileth.

‘I mean, I heard about the war.’

Irileth grunted. ‘Whiterun stayed neutral, long as possible. Down to Balgruuf, that was. Until the Dragonborn came and convinced him to stand with the Empire. Held the line herself when the Stormcloaks laid siege.’ She shook her head. ‘Doesn’t matter now. This Kara could just have easily been a Legate in the Legion. A bandit, or one of the Vigilants, or a guard. It doesn’t matter.’

‘You don’t think it’ll help, knowing who she was?’

Irileth was silent for a while.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Everybody says, they knew her. Knew her before. Before what? Something happened to her. Stormcloaks, Dawnguard, whatever, we’re all violent. But indiscriminate murder? That’s different. Something happened to her.’

‘But what?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘I don’t know,’ said Irileth. ‘If we knew that, we probably wouldn’t be grasping for clues up here.’

It was then that the Prefect returned, a familiar face behind him. Yanakh shed her fur cloak and joined them at the fire. She hurriedly attacked what remained of the food, greeting the Companions and thanking the Prefect inbetween mouthfuls. The Prefect seemed to want to linger among such company, but again withdrew to his duties.

‘Just in time, I reckon,’ said Yanakh, when she was finished. ‘Blizzard coming in really thick out there.’

‘Sonja’s not with you?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘She enrolled. Hang on. She gave me a letter for you, here.’

Thaegoth took it, and read. He remembered the other letter she’d sent him, when he was housecarl to Jarl Nelkir. He’d had to burn that paper, to avoid it being found. The heartfelt scrap that he’d saved from that letter still rested under the bindings of his swordhandle. He let his hand rest of that as he read this newest letter, telling of Winterhold and the College, Sonja’s newfound abilities, and of splitting her time between there and Jorrvaskr. He smiled and regretted never having the chance to send her anything in return.

‘What are you doing way up here, anyway?’ asked Yanakh. ‘When the Legion fellow said there were other Companions here I thought he was joking.’

‘Following a lead,’ said Irileth.

‘The Burned Woman,’ said Yanakh. ‘Can’t say as I’ve seen her stomping around Winterhold.’

‘We got a lead, from the Dawnguard,’ said Thaegoth. ‘A woman called Serana, who knew the Burned Woman. Kara, her name is.’

‘Serana?’ said Yanakh. ‘Not the Serana who runs the alchemy shop in town?’

‘What?’ said Thaegoth, jumping from his seat.

‘Yeah,’ said Yanakh. ‘It’s called _The Morning Star._ Been there, I don’t know, a year, maybe less. Does good business, all those mages about.’

Thaegoth paced back and forth across the room.

‘Why in the hells didn’t you tell us?’ he said.

‘Hey, if you run off to Fort Dawnguard without sharing information, this is what happens,’ said Yanakh. ‘Companions work together, don’t they?’

‘Kara could be there too,’ said Thaegoth. ‘She could be... oh gods, Sonja.’

‘I don’t think this Kara’s there,’ said Yanakh. ‘Winterhold’s not that big a town. I would’ve known, if someone like that was about.’

‘Sonja’s stuck in Winterhold with the woman who killed the old Companions,’ said Thaegoth. ‘We can’t just sit here!’

‘There’s a blizzard outside, Thaegoth,’ said Irileth.

‘What if she wants to finish the job?’ demanded Thaegoth. ‘What if she learns there’s a Companion in town and she wants to finish the job? No, no.’

He grabbed Yanakh’s fur cloak, flung it around his shoulders, and raced out of the room. He rushed through the halls of the fort and out the main doors. The snow was thick and the wind almost flung him back inside. He set his teeth and forged a path forward through the thick white. He was outside the exterior walls of the fort before he heard voices behind him. His old thief speed giving him an edge again. Gradually the voices faded and there was only Thaegoth and the snow.

The cold was immediate, and its strength only grew as he carried on. Soon his teeth were chattering. He wanted to laugh. Teeth chattering! Something so alien, back in Cyrodiil. Something they did as a mockery, a performance of being cold. But here he was, his fingers and nose already going numb. The cloak had a hood and he pulled it up, fumbling more than he ought due to the lack of feeling in his usually dextrous hands.

He kept the dark shadow of the mountain on his left. That was important, he knew. Without that, he’d be out in a directionless land of white. No north or south then. Often he thought he saw movement in the blizzard, shifting figures, large and shambling or scrawny and galloping, but whenever he looked again, they were gone. Nobody else would be stupid enough to go out this storm. At that, he did laugh, and felt lightheaded.

He didn’t know how long he stumbled on. He tried to keep his mind on the image of Sonja, but it kept slipping away. Eventually there was a light ahead of him, bobbing above the snow. It drew closer, and there was a figure holding the light. A lantern held by an Argonian in guard armour. After that, Thaegoth’s mind was blank for a time.

When he came to again, he was warm. He was in a small wooden room, on a bed sandwiched down one end. The rest of the room contained only a lit fireplace, a neat stack of wood, and a ladder leading up. Thaegoth lay there for a time, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what had happened.

There was the thump of wood on wood, and the Argonian guard came down the ladder, pausing to close the trapdoor behind him. He thumped down into the small space and nodded, perhaps approvingly, at Thaegoth’s wakefulness. Thaegoth saw then that the Winterhold guard armour featured significantly more layers of fur than that of other Holds. The guard pulled a kettle off the fire and poured its contents into a cup.

He handed it to Thaegoth, who sat up and drank. It was, he surmised, a sort of herbal tea. Not one he was familiar with, but it filled his limbs with warmth and he found himself smiling.

‘Where am I?’ he asked.

‘Guardpost,’ said the guard. ‘At Whistling Mine.’

‘Not in Winterhold?’ The guard shook his head. Thaegoth took another drink. ‘I was so worried,’ he said, trying to rise. His limbs, though warm, seemed not to carry his weight, and he slumped back on the bed. ‘Sonja, I couldn’t...’

The guard displayed a look of surprise.

‘You know her?’ asked Thaegoth.

The guard shook his head. ‘My wife,’ he said. ‘At the College. She told me.’

‘How is she?’

‘Well, I think,’ he said. He gestured at himself. ‘Kureeth,’ he said.

‘Thaegoth,’ said Thaegoth. ‘I’m looking for... a woman called Serana. She runs the, uh, the alchemy shop? In town?’

Kureeth nodded. The guard didn’t carry a weapon, Thaegoth noticed, though his own sword lay propped next to the woodpile.

‘You are Companions, like Sonja,’ said Kureeth.

‘Yes,’ said Thaegoth, ‘we—’

‘You are looking for the Burned Woman.’

‘Yes, how did you—’

‘It is a fool’s errand. The Burned Woman does not—’

This time it was Thaegoth who did the cutting off.

‘Kara. I know her name. We went to see the Dawnguard, they told us,’ he said.

Kureeth was silent for a moment. ‘Kara, then,’ he said. ‘It does not matter. She does not exist anymore, if she ever did. More in the minds of Skyrim’s people. They never knew her.’

‘But you do,’ said Thaegoth, leaning closer, cursing his weak limbs.

Kureeth was silent.

‘Where is she?’

‘It is not my place,’ said Kureeth. He held Thaegoth’s gaze. ‘Talk to Serana, if you must. But it would be better if you left in the other direction.’

Thaegoth shook his head. Kureeth stared at him for a while, then nodded, coming to some decision.

‘Stay,’ he said. ‘Until the storm lifts. Drink.’

Thaegoth did. Kureeth turned and went back up the ladder, disappearing again through the trapdoor into the watchtower. Thaegoth sat back on the bed, swearing to stay awake, so that he could leave at the soonest possible moment. But the room was warm, the hour late, and the tea comforting. He soon drifted off, and dreamed of the blizzard that raged outside.


	49. The Morning Star

On her first full day as a student of the College of Winterhold, Sonja rose early. Her room was smaller than her room back at Jorrvaskr, but this one felt simultaneously older and cleaner. A room that had seen many occupants before her, each striving to understand and master the magic arts. And a room that she already knew she would want to keep in its pristine state as long as possible. She made the bed before pulling aside the curtains that blocked the room from the rest of the tower.

She wasn’t sure what the tower was called, specifically. There had been many names of locations thrown at her on the previous day, and only the Hall of the Elements, where she’d had her test, had really stuck. About to head down the stairs, she encountered a short red-haired Nord coming up. She was dressed in grey robes, and introduced herself as Ursula. She was carrying a plate of fruit and bread, along with a cup of cool water, both of which she passed over.

‘You missed breakfast,’ she said.

Sonja thanked her, and balanced the plate on the central circular wall of the tower. Looking down into the central well and the soft blue light it sent up, she ate.

‘Missed it?’ she asked. ‘But it can’t be past dawn.’

‘We rise early here,’ said Ursula. ‘Well, most of us. J’zargo’s basically nocturnal.’ She had an odd accent, one that Sonja didn’t think she’d encountered before. When pressed, Ursula revealed that she hailed from the island of Solstheim, far to the north-east. She added that she had suffered losses that made her sympathetic to the losses of the Companions.

‘The College has not been breached by hostile forces under the Archmage’s tenure,’ Ursula assured her. ‘Though some have tried.’

Sonja thanked her again, and added, ‘There are other Companions out on the trail of the Burned Woman. We’ll bring her to justice.’

‘The trail would be cold by now, wouldn’t it?’ asked Ursula.

‘Maybe,’ said Sonja. She wondered if her letter had reached Thaegoth yet, and whether she’d get one in return. ‘Last I heard, we were looking for a woman called Serana.’

‘Serana?’ asked Ursula. ‘Who runs _The Morning Star_?’

‘The what?’

‘The alchemy shop in town.’

Sonja flinched, and her plate went clattering down the well, the remnants of her breakfast scattering across the ground floor.

‘Ah, not to worry, I can fix this,’ said Ursula, leaning out over the well. ‘My telekinesis is improving.’ An orange light was already forming in her hand, but Sonja was gone. Taking the stairs down two at a time, she barrelled out into the courtyard, drawing looks from a pair of mages she didn’t know who were talking near the statue there.

She turned away, the exterior gate opening for her, and steeled herself for the bridge crossing.

Back in the guardpost, Kureeth shook Thaegoth awake.

‘Relief’s here,’ said the guard. ‘I’ll walk with you.’

Thaegoth darted up, fixing his swordbelt and pulling the fur cloak tight around his shoulders. He exited the small building, barely registering the greeting of the other guard. The blizzard had ceased and the sky was clear. The road north was inundated with crisp white snow, but many boots had already trod through it, making the going much easier.

He set a fast pace, and Kureeth matched it without complaint. There was concern spreading across the Argonian’s face, and as the town drew closer, Thaegoth broke away from the guard, into a long loping run that he’d used to escape many guards back in his previous life.

Sonja, who’d gotten across the bridge without once looking down, raced through Winterhold. She’d seen _The Morning Star_ on the way in to town, and so had no trouble finding it. The door was open, and she rushed in.

Behind the counter was a Nord woman, mixing some concoction in a small bowl. Her black hair was tied in a plait that hung over her shoulder. She looked up at the rude entrance and her green eyes pierced right through Sonja. There wasn’t a wrinkle present in the woman’s face, but Sonja faltered as if under the gaze of an elder.

‘What can I do for you?’ asked the woman. One of her hands had slipped below the counter.

Sonja’s eyes scanned the room, but she saw only shelves on alchemy ingredients, potions, and other magical paraphernalia that she did not yet recognise. No woman with distinctive facial scarring, no bane of the Companions. Just a single doorway behind the counter.

‘Are you... Serana?’ asked Sonja.

‘I am.’

‘I’m looking for Kara.’

Serana’s face didn’t move. It was like a mask had descended upon her, Sonja thought.

‘I don’t know anybody by that name,’ said Serana.

‘She was also called the Burned Woman,’ said Sonja. ‘I know you knew her. Back when you were in the Dawnguard.’

‘You’d be one of the Companions then.’ She turned slightly and called into the back room. ‘Honey, could you bring me a handful of pink mountain flowers.’ She turned back, returning to her mixing. ‘Just the thing for this,’ she said.

‘Yes, I’m with the Companions,’ said Sonja. She realised then that although she’d buckled on her sword through force of habit that morning, her shield was still up in her room in the College. Not to mention her armour, which still lay in her room all the way back in Jorrvaskr.

‘On your own,’ said Serana, without infliction.

‘We’re all here,’ said Sonja. ‘Just coming. On their way.’

‘Hmm,’ said Serana. ‘I heard you were rebuilding. That’s good. Skyrim always needs people like that.’

‘There were people like that,’ said Sonja, taking a step towards the counter. ‘Good people.’ She remembered Farkas and Vilkas, Athis and Njada, Torvar and Eorlund. ‘Until she killed them.’

‘She did,’ said Serana. ‘What makes you think she won’t do the same to you? Even if your little gang is outside in the snow. Which I doubt.’

‘We’re prepared this time,’ said Sonja.

At which point Thaegoth burst through the door.

‘Halt!’ he yelled. ‘Justice must be done!’

He and Sonja looked at each other with surprise, then pleasure, then surprise again. Kureeth entered shortly after Thaegoth. He hadn’t created much of a distance between them at all, Thaegoth noticed. Maybe he was getting slow, or the Argonian was much faster than he looked.

‘Prepared,’ said Sonja, and now her voice was loaded with disdain. ‘You’re children, scratching at the edges of a hell.’ Her voice changed for a moment as she addressed the guard. ‘Thank you, Kureeth. I can handle this.’

Kureeth waited for a moment, then nodded. He left the shop, closing the door behind him. There was a moment of silence. Sonja spoke, mostly in order to stop Thaegoth from embarrassing them any further.

‘We know what we’re doing,’ she said. ‘And neither of us are children.’

Serana sneered. ‘I was walking this land before your pathetic empire was a glint in its founder’s eye. Whatever their name was. Don’t talk to me about age.’

‘That was... thousands of years ago,’ said Thaegoth. ‘They said you were a vampire, but I had no idea.’

‘A vampire?’ exclaimed Sonja. Her hand dropped to her sword.

‘I was,’ said Serana. ‘Someone convinced me to give it up.’

‘Who did you call to, before?’ asked Sonja.

‘My wife,’ said Serana.

‘She’s taking a while with that pink mountain flower.’

‘She is,’ said Serana, smiling.

‘Pink?’ said Thaegoth. He frowned, his mouth moving silently. ‘I know I haven’t been in Skyrim that long, but I’ve never seen a pink mountain flower. Blue, and red, and yellow, and purple, but not pink.’

‘Really?’ said Serana. ‘How strange.’

Recognition swept through Sonja. ‘She’s gone, isn’t she?’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Serana, still smiling.

Recognition swept through Thaegoth. ‘Are you going to kill us?’

Serana’s smile vanished. ‘She wouldn’t like it if I did that.’

‘Come on,’ said Sonja, grabbing Thaegoth’s arm. ‘She must have gone out the back, we can still catch her.’

She pulled him out the front door. Kureeth was standing across the street on the porch of the inn, watching them. The pair of Companions ran around _The Morning Star_ and found, sure enough, a fresh set of prints in the snow, heading from the back door of shop, up the hill to the west.

‘The Burned Woman,’ said Thaegoth.

‘Kara,’ said Sonja. ‘Come on.’

Together, they sprinted up the hill, finally with a trail as fresh as any hunter could hope for.


	50. Kara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end, and not just for these characters. For me, this is the end of a journey in writing Skyrim fic that began more than five years ago, with what's now the opening chapters of _Outcasts and Outlands_. I never thought I'd even finish that, let alone write more than 250k words for the fandom. But here we are. As ever, thanks for reading.

Sonja and Thaegoth ran west over the snow, following the tracks. When they crested the hill, there was nobody in sight. The way widened, and there were numerous wooden posts hammered into the earth. Sonja remembered what Yanakh had said about the town expanding in this direction. The tracks still headed west, and the Companions still headed after them.

‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ asked Sonja, as they jogged down the hill through the snow.

‘The Dawnguard pointed us here,’ said Thaegoth, between breaths. ‘Last known location of Serana.’

‘So where are the others?’

‘Charos went back to Jorrvaskr. I, uh, left Irileth and Yanakh in the fort. Yanakh told us about _The Morning Star._ ’

‘What do you mean, you left?’

‘I ran out,’ said Thaegoth. ‘In the blizzard.’

‘You… you’re an idiot! This isn’t some little summer storm down in Cyrodiil. You go out in blizzards here, you fucking die!’

‘It was fine. I was fine.’

‘No, you weren’t,’ said Sonja. Heading too fast on a downhill slope, she tripped and fell head over heels into the snow. She rose, cursing, shoving aside Thaegoth’s helpful hand.

‘You could have died!’ she said, hauling herself up.

‘I didn’t,’ said Thaegoth. ‘I didn’t, the guard, Kureeth, he pulled me out. I wanted... I had to see if you were alright.’

‘It’s not a grand romantic gesture,’ said Sonja. ‘It’s just stupid. Come on.’

They started running again, following the tracks in silence as the ground levelled out for a time. Then the tracks headed to the right, angling down a steep narrow passage that presumably led to the coast. Great walls of ice formed the boundaries of the way. Thaegoth and Sonja hurtled down it, panting and spitting.

At the base, just visible, was a figure wrapped in furs. She looked back at them for a moment and revealed the left side of her face to be warped, rippled with the old scars of a burn. She crouched, vomited, and then shambled west along the coast, out of sight.

‘That’s her!’ yelled Thaegoth.

Sonja just grunted. The pair nearly flung themselves down the passage. The coast and the cold Sea of Ghosts rushed up to meet them. Thaegoth skidded to a halt, going down on his backside on the grey sand. Sonja extended a hand to him and hauled him up.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have—’

‘No, you were right,’ said Thaegoth, panting. He pulled them into a run again, gaining ground on the Burned Woman. ‘I was stupid.’

‘Yeah,’ said Sonja. ‘Still love you, though.’

Thaegoth stumbled and almost went down again.

‘You do?’ he said. ‘I mean, yeah, you do. I mean, uh. I love you too, of course. I mean—’

‘Can we save this for later?’ asked Sonja, upping their pace. ‘I think I can do...’

She cleared her mind like Vash had taught her. Imagined the flame, hanging there in the void. It appeared in her hand—Thaegoth flinching away, then looking at her with wonder—then she drew her hand back and threw it.

The handful of flame didn’t reach Kara. Instead, it impacted upon a bit of dry brush just behind her. The brush burst apart, scattering sparks, and Kara flung herself away, half into the sea. That was all the time Sonja and Thaegoth needed to reach her. She on her back, supporting herself on her elbows, the water lapping at them. And the Companions above her. She had a fur hat pulled tight around her head, but in her fall it had come loose, and slid back on her head to reveal the full extent of her scars. What remained of her blonde hair was cropped to vanishing point. In addition to the burns, there were others, cuts and punctures from a long career of fighting. More than either Sonja or Thaegoth had seen on even the most seasoned warrior.

Thaegoth drew his sword and left its point hanging over Kara’s chest, preventing her from rising. She seemed tired, tired beyond belief. She looked at both of them, waiting for them to act. Sonja and Thaegoth looked at each other. Here was the end they had sought, and they had no idea how to proceed. Both of them privately wished Aela was there. Both of them starting talking at the same time.

‘In the name of justice, we—’

‘All I want to know is why—’

They both stopped. Thaegoth wondered at the justice he demanded. A trial, then? Drag her back to Solitude? It had been tried before, he’d been told. Sonja, wondering at what explanation there could possibly be, felt herself sag and suddenly understood why Aela hadn’t wanted to come.

‘You can’t kill me,’ said Kara. ‘I’ve tried that already.’

‘What?’ said Thaegoth. ‘Everybody dies. Everybody.’

‘Not me,’ said Kara. She spoke through a tight jaw, her voice dry and unused to speaking. She coughed. ‘If I could change that, I would.’ She looked towards the east. ‘Serana says I’m not allowed to hurt myself anymore.’

Sonja wanted to collapse. She put a hand on Thaegoth’s shoulder, but whether for her own support, or to stop him using his sword, she didn’t know.

‘How?’ she asked.

Kara sighed. ‘Can I get out of the sea?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Thaegoth.

Sonja pulled him a few steps back. Kara rose, her arms and back soaked with cold water. She pulled off her gloves and wrung them out. Her hands too were scarred all over, and Sonja saw deep parallel lines both across and up her wrists.

‘Talk,’ said Thaegoth, his sword still pointed at her chest.

Kara pulled her gloves back on. She cleared her throat. ‘I went to Oblivion,’ she said. ‘Long story. I made a deal with Clavicus Vile. Nobody would ever be able to kill me. I got strength, endurance, speed. Everything. A magic sword, until I lost it.’

‘What did he get out of the deal?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘I served him, one month of every twelve,’ said Kara.

‘Morning Star?’ asked Sonja. Kara nodded. ‘That sounds... good. Doesn’t it? A good deal. You’d be—you were unstoppable.’

‘I was,’ said Kara. She smiled, but it vanished quickly. ‘I thought, whatever evil he had me do in Morning Star, I had the rest of the year to make amends.’

‘The murders, around Skyrim,’ said Sonja, thinking back. ‘And the Companions... those both happened during the month of Morning Star, one year apart.’

‘I wanted power,’ said Kara. ‘And I was afraid of pain. I got both.’

‘But you could’ve done something,’ said Thaegoth, his grip so tight his swordpoint was wavering, jittering in the cold air. ‘You could’ve gone, I don’t know, to someone else, to someone for help.’

‘What Vile had me do in those months made it sure that nobody would ever help me,’ said Kara. ‘And if I betrayed him, he’d throw me into the Quagmire. Vaermina owed him a favour, he used to say.’ Her voice cracked. She stared off to the side, her eyes unfocussed.

Sonja clenched and unclenched her fists. She needed a drink, she thought, or to crawl under her bedcovers and stay there in the dark for a very long time. She felt she ought to say something, but what was there to say? What words could escape from under the weight of such grief and trauma?

‘You,’ said Thaegoth, ‘no, this isn’t how it...’

His jaw was clenched tight, and Sonja, her hand still on him, felt the sweat running down his neck. His head was filled with one image: him, lunging forward until his sword was driven completely through Kara’s chest.

‘I killed them,’ said Kara. ‘I killed... I don’t know how many. Most of them leave me alone. But the ones I killed in each capital, and the Companions, they won’t get out of my head. Sometimes I can go minutes without thinking about them. And then...’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Sonja.

Kara looked at her with surprise, as did Thaegoth.

‘What?’ he said. ‘No, we have to—’

‘Your revenge,’ said Kara. ‘I understand. I’ve tried that myself. It won’t make you whole again, but I understand.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Sonja. ‘You tried to kill Clavicus Vile?’

Kara made a noise that could have been a laugh. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Though about as futile. During the war, I was—’

‘A Stormcloak,’ said Thaegoth. ‘We know.’

Kara grunted. ‘I was young,’ she said. ‘And stupid. We—well, you know how the story goes. We lost. Everybody knew that. Except me. I went into the wilds, trying to get together what was left of our camps. Eventually it was just me. I thought, if I could just find her... take my revenge, it’d all be fixed. Everything would be fine again.’

‘Find who?’ asked Thaegoth.

‘The Dragonborn,’ said Sonja. ‘She led the siege on Windhelm. Killed Ulfric herself, some say.’

‘And I found her,’ said Kara. ‘Took me a long while. Everything takes a long while when there’s nobody to back you up. Down by Lake Ilinalta. She was’—here Kara did laugh—‘she was fishing. No armour. Just a single sword. Didn’t use her Voice. Disarmed me without even trying. I was good, but she was...’

‘The best,’ said Sonja.

‘You met her?’ asked Kara.

‘No,’ said Sonja. ‘But I’ve heard the stories.’

‘The stories are nothing on the reality of her,’ said Kara. ‘She saved me, then. I squandered it, later, with Vile, but... she saved me, then.’

‘A lovely story,’ said Thaegoth. ‘But I don’t—’

They all turned to the east. From up the steep echoing passage of ice, they could hearing approaching voices, running and yelling. Sonja pulled Thaegoth back.

‘Run,’ she said to Kara.

‘What?’ said Thaegoth, his voice breaking. ‘No, you can’t—’

He threw Sonja off and lunged forward. His sword went right through Kara’s chest, emerging from her back. She screamed and bled, thrashing on the end of the blade. She fell back, wrenching the sword from Thaegoth’s grip, and slumped to one knee on the gritty sand. Her teeth set tightly, she looked up at them. She rose, and with another scream, pulled the sword from her, staggering a little, and handed it back.

‘I’d kill Vile, if I could,’ she said. ‘Gave me no death, but plenty of pain.’

‘You don’t work for him anymore,’ said Sonja, though she couldn’t tell how she knew that.

‘No,’ said Kara. ‘Escaped that. Strength and the rest are gone too. He left me deathless, though. A parting gift.’

The voices were getting closer. Sonja looked in that direction, dragged Thaegoth back again, then said, ‘Play dead.’

Kara looked at her for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she dropped back to the sand, onto her back, her limbs sprawled at uncomfortable angles. Down the passage of ice came Irileth and Yanakh. Behind them were Kureeth and a pair of guards, Serana trailing further back. They all came down onto the beach, saw Sonja and Thaegoth, and headed over.

‘Keep your mouth shut,’ murmured Sonja.

Thaegoth opened it, but the glare she sent him was enough for him to draw it closed again very quickly.

‘Did you find her?’ asked Irileth. ‘Is that her?’

‘It’s over,’ said Sonja, gesturing to the body. ‘We should go. Fucking freezing out here.’ She ran through possible stories in her head, dragging Thaegoth along with her, back east towards the passage, away from Kara. Reluctantly, taking a look at the body, Irileth and Yanakh followed.

‘What the hell happened?’ asked Irileth.

‘Thaegoth stabbed her,’ said Sonja. ‘Through the heart. She’s dead. It’s over.’

Slowly, Thaegoth said, ‘Can’t say I enjoyed it.’

Serana smiled, then suppressed it. ‘It’s almost as if revenge is an entirely unsatisfying and wasteful endeavour,’ she said. She turned to Kureeth and the other guards, asking to be able to take care of the body. Kureeth nodded his agreement. Serana returned to Kara, crouching beside her, while the others headed up the passage back to Winterhold.

‘Oh, you can have your cloak back,’ said Thaegoth, motioning to take it off.

‘Keep it for now,’ said Yanakh. ‘You’re less used to this cold than me.’

A small group of mages were waiting for them in the main street of Winterhold. The Archmage Vash, the Bosmer Falin, and Ursula, who had brought Sonja’s breakfast that morning.

‘What happened?’ asked Vash.

Kureeth gestured for silence. He and his wife Falin moved off towards the College, Vash and Ursula in tow. The other guards trudged back to the barracks. Just the Companions remained in the snow.

‘We’ll catch up with you,’ said Sonja hurriedly.

‘Ah,’ said Irileth. She looked at Yanakh. ‘Maybe a drink?’

‘I’m sure there’s someone here who owes me a couple,’ said Yanakh. Together they headed over to _The Frozen Hearth,_ and went inside. After that door closed, its burst of warm light cut off, Sonja and Thaegoth were alone in the street.

Sonja looked up at the sky. It was still so early, she thought. When she looked down, Thaegoth was staring at her. She sighed.

‘Are you going to be okay with this?’ she asked.

Thaegoth was silent for a while.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t think this is the best path.’

‘There is no best path,’ said Sonja. ‘This is just the one with the least death. And I’m so tired, we... we’ve seen enough.’ She looked up at the College, its huge towers near-black against the pale sky. ‘Besides, you were the one who taught me to move forward, to not give in to old impulses. Find a way that isn’t violent.’

‘You trying to convince me, or yourself?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know.’ She laid a hand on his chest. ‘You should go.’

‘What about you?’

‘The Archmage, he said I can split my time between here and Jorrvaskr. That little flame might have reached her, but apart from that I’m rubbish at magic. I’d like... I think I can be better. I think I can do this. Will you be alright?’

‘Without you,’ said Thaegoth. He looked away. ‘I’ll miss you, but I’ll be alright.’

Sonja tilted his head until they were facing each other. She kissed him on the forehead, then on the lips.

‘I should come back,’ she said. ‘Just to... Aela deserves to hear the story from me.’

‘Are you going to tell her the truth?’

‘I haven’t decided yet.’

‘She deserves the truth, after what she’s been through. Painful as it is.’

‘Maybe,’ said Sonja. ‘Not sure I want to be the cause of any more pain for her. I’ll think of something. On the way back.’ She smiled. ‘There’s no bandits taking over the town or anything, so, we don’t have to run. We’ve got time.’

Thaegoth smiled back. ‘We do,’ he said.


End file.
